Drabbles A La Glee 3
by GingerGleek
Summary: A 3rd installment of drabbles, following 'Drabbles A La Glee' and 'Drabbles A La Glee 2'. Some episode related, some not. Rated T to be safe.
1. Will

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, sadly ... (;._

_A/N: And installment #3 begins!_

_I can't believe I even made it here! My sincerest thanks to everyone who's ever reviewed a drabble in the previous two installments!_

_I started out the last two installments with a drabble by Will, and I couldn't resist carrying on the tradition! This one carries slight spoilers about what I know about tonight's episode, 'Grilled Cheesus', from the promo; but just at the end._

_To anyone who's never read one of my drabbles before, welcome! I really, really hope you enjoy it!_

_And to everyone who _has_, I hope it lives up to the standards I've been trying to set for myself!_

_-0-0-_

Will knows that most of the time, half the kids in Glee can't stand each other.

It was frustrating at first (and sometimes it still is), but he's come to accept that it's an occupational hazard of them being teenagers. They just do _not_ get along. It's a miracle in and of itself, he thinks, that they can come together for a couple hours every week to do something magical like this; he can't expect them to be best friends outside of the choir room.

He doesn't think, however, that it's too much to ask that they come together in a tough time like this and support each other. Because they may throw slushies on each other … and throw each other in dumpsters … and insult each other in the hallways … but they're still a _family_. They're like siblings who never stop fighting, but they're a family still. And family runs deeper than the social hierarchy, he knows. (Or at least, he hopes.)

And for the most part, he's not disappointed.

He's watched as Rachel swallowed her pride and got up on stage to sing _Somebody to Love_ when they needed her back. (And he's watched her swallow her pride and come back so many times since then, he hardly even worries any more when she does storm out on them all.)

He's watched as Quinn fell pregnant and everyone rallied themselves around her and Finn when they needed the support the most. He's watched as the secret came out and Quinn needed them all to be there for her again. He's stood in a waiting room, watching eight kids sitting restlessly in chair's waiting for their teammate to give birth to her ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend's baby.

And now he's watching as ten kids sit in a different hospital waiting room, Kurt and Mercedes both in with his comatose father. He's watching as Quinn leads the group in prayer, their two resident Jews included. (Sure, Puck looks a little bored … but that's his default setting, and at least he has his eyes closed and his hands connected in the little circle they've created; Rachel, as per her usual, has a focused look on her face, putting as much focus into a religion different than her own as she does everything else.)

It's a terrible situation, and he hates that Kurt's facing this. He hates looking at his student's face and seeing the pain and fear in his eyes. He hates that Kurt has already lost his mother and might lose his father too, no matter how much they all pray.

But he can't deny that he's proud of his kids right now.

_-0-0-_

_[A/N(2): Just BTW, I don't know much about praying but I've heard about prayer circles in passing and I figured it fit because religion is the focus of tonight's episode. I don't have a religion, I don't carry any personal opinion about religion, and - while I don't think I said anything that would - I don't mean to offend anyone with what I write.]_

_Please review!_


	2. An Apology

_A/N: I've been on the verge of deciding not to do multiple drabbles a night (with the exception of when I miss a day, of course), but I just couldn't resist because of the new episode!_

_And wow, loved it! Thought the grilled cheesus was just a little too odd, lol (and him eating it at the end? Gross, it was so old!), but the rest was amazing! The whole Burt storyline had me in tears by the end, but it was fantastically done; so glad he's alive!_

_This is set before the last scene where Kurt's in the hospital and Burt squeezes his fingers, for no other reason than because I wanted to add it in; and also because some Kurt/Quinn friendship was too hard to pass up._

_I really hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"I'm sorry."

Kurt's not even exactly sure why he's saying it. He's sure that Quinn wouldn't grudge him it if he didn't apologize, considering everything that's going on at the moment … but he feels like it needs to be said to someone. And since he already went to church with Mercedes, and there's no way he's going to say the s-word to Rachel, he figures she's the preferable option. (Plus, he's apologizing for more than cutting their prayer circle short.

It's not like he meant to belittle everything she's ever believed in. Well, he kind of did, because he thinks it's a load of bull, but he didn't mean to hurt her in the process. She's proven recently to be a good friend, and he doesn't want to jeopardize that (especially right now, when so much else is in jeopardy). He doesn't believe in God, but he knows how important it is to her. How much her religion has made her who she is today, and how much she relies on it, _especially_ after last year. And who is he to try and stop anything that has even a remote possibility – whether he believes it or not – of helping his dad.

Her eyes flit around for a moment, as if she's trying to figure out who he's talking to. When she realizes that they're the only two left in the choir room, her pupils widen minutely before she smiles a little uncertainly. (He's amazed that she hasn't been lost back to the self she was pre-pregnancy, but he's glad; he doesn't think everyone could handle bitch-Quinn again.) "It's okay Kurt, really," she tells him earnestly, but he just shakes his head.

"I have no more right to essentially call you an idiot for believing in something than you do to call me the same for not," he says, the _which you didn't, so this is me making us even_ going unspoken yet clearly heard. "At the least, I shouldn't have compared God to a monkey in a teapot around the dark side of the moon; that was out of line."

She doesn't acknowledge the last bit, because there isn't much to say to that. Because yeah, he shouldn't have, but she still feels bad for going against his wishes in the first place. Because it's his dad in a coma, and if he doesn't want any prayers who is she to force them down his throat?

"You can keep praying for him, if you want."

He's not sure why he says that either … and neither is she, if the confused look on her face is any indication.

"I mean, I still don't believe in God and probably never will … but I figure there's no harm in praying to nothing, right? And if there _is_ something, it can only do my dad some good …"

"Okay," she says with another smile, "I will." (It's easiest to leave it like that; no conversation about whether there is or isn't some divine being up above. They can at least come to respect each other's opinions, if nothing else.)

He smiles back, nodding his head before turning to leave the choir room. She catches him just as he's about to walk through the door, sliding in front of him and wrapping her arms around his waist. He stands still for a moment, surprised by the action, before he returns her embrace.

"I hope he gets better," she says honestly with her cheek pressed up against his shoulder, because she doesn't know what else to say.

"Me too," he whispers, his voice catching just a little bit, holding tightly for another long moment, "me too."

_-0-0-_

_[A/N(2): Basically the same as the previous drabbles AN, that I don't have any real views on religion of my own, and that I mean to offend no one with what I write._

_And also that I couldn't exactly remember the dark-side-of-the-moon thing that Kurt said, but it was too funny to pass up!]_

_Please review!_


	3. Finn

_A/N: This took longer than I expected it to, and I'm practically dead on my feet right now falling asleep on my keyboard. I started writing one as per request (which, by the way, I accept with open arms; for a drabble or anything else) two hours ago and finished it, but it turned out to be just shy of 1000 words so I'll post that tomorrow as a oneshot instead. And then I had to start all over for a drabble, because I don't want to fall behind this early in the game, you know?_

_Anyways, I had to write this one because when Finn found out and he said all those things to Kurt, my heart went out to him. Even if I thought he was acting kinda dumb with the 'Grilled Cheesus' worship (;._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

Finn never knew his dad.

Growing up there were nothing but the pictures around the house, an old chair, an urn full of ashes, and an unspoken rule to keep talk of him as quiet and scarce as possible. He's sure his mom didn't mean to give the subject of his father a slight taboo, but he's always been good at reading her emotions, and he knew how it affected her. How unnerved and upset she'd get when he asked questions, how sad she'd be when she _did_ talk about him … he just figured it was preferable to keep quiet. He didn't want to be the cause of any more pain, after all.

As he grew up he learned some more … how he was a war hero; how he loved reading Sherlock Holmes books, trying to solve the mysteries himself. How he wrote home every week he was gone, telling Carole how much he missed her and how he couldn't wait to see her again. (She found it much easier to talk about the times where he was gone and he came back as opposed to that one time he didn't; kind of funny in an ironic way, isn't it, how in cases like this just one time is more than enough to tear a whole world apart.)

But he never met him. Never called anyone 'dada' growing up; never had anyone to teach him to swing a bat or throw a football. (It's a miracle he ever learned and made quarterback, even for a shitty team like theirs.) Carole's sporadic boyfriends over the years don't count in the least, in his opinion. No matter how long or often they were around, they always left in the end; and he learned to hate them, for each hurting his mom over and over again. Growing up it was just him and Puck, bonded by their lack of a male role model in their lives.

(Finn could never help but wonder which of their cases was preferable; never having known a good dad, or having known a terrible failure of one who was never anything more than a cause for fear and a cause of pain. In the end he always just satisfied himself with the fact that they both had it bad; him with the war hero father he'd never met, and Puck with the deadbeat dad who was drunk and angry too often before he did them a service and skipped town. Either way they ended up fatherless, Puck just had more disappointment along the way.)

He never had _anyone_ until Mr. Schue, and even that isn't really enough. Mr. Schue's a great teacher and a great support system inside of Glee and outside of it, but he can't expect anything more from him. (He doesn't have a right to ask anything more from him, let alone expect it.)

Then Burt comes along, and takes him to a baseball game … they talk about sports, and Burt asks him about school, and commiserates with him over his typical teenaged troubles. And it's kind of like having a dad, he thinks. Not that he knows at all from experience, but it's just kind of amazing and wonderful and unbelievable at the same time, so he thinks this must be something of the sort.

And no, they're not related by blood; and no, he doesn't have near the claim on him that Kurt does … but that doesn't mean that his heart attack and coma don't affect Finn. His gut feels all churn-y, his head hurts from it, and he's scared for him; and he just really hates that he was the last one to know about it all.

He never had someone in the picture, never had a dad around when he was growing up; and he really doesn't want to lose the person who's come closest to being that for him.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	4. Something More Underneath

_A/N: Don't know exactly where this one came from ... and it's shorter than the others in this installment so far ... but I hope you enjoy anyways!_

_-0-0-_

"_You going to report me, Sue; get me fired?"_

"_No."_

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to understand Sue Sylvester.

One minute she's insulting people at random, making a crack at his hair, trying to destroy Glee club. The next she's saving it from extinction, being almost _kind_, showing brief glimpses of a softer side of herself. And yes, he dares to say it; _Sue has a soft side_. Her heart isn't just a black hole in the middle of her chest, apparently. He's seen her hurt, seen her almost smile for reasons other than the pain of someone else.

But then she reverts back to the evil Sue everyone knows and is afraid of, pushing students out of her way in the hallway, and yelling obscenities and belittling comments at her Cheerios and anyone else in the vicinity. She's a schoolyard bully, toying with people's emotions and fears and drawing Will into her web of cruelty at the expense of the 'new girl'.

(It's hard to balance the image of them – of the two Sues – with each other. They don't mesh in the slightest, but the two different mentalities seem to be sharing the same body.)

But she saved them; saved the very thing she's made it a mission of hers to destroy. She did God-knows-what to get ensure them another year to prove themselves. He still doesn't know the circumstances of that arrangement, but he knows that sometimes it's the only thing holding him back from losing his temper at her (even if sometimes it isn't enough to hold him back). That, and times like this …

When she pleasantly surprises him; by acting like a decent, compassionate human being.

(Sounds insane, right? But he's seen it with his own eyes, and he's starting to think that there's really a lot more than insanity and rage under her tough exterior than she'd like to let on.)

Oh yeah, she's an enigma this one. But a worthy opponent, he must admit. And just maybe more human than anyone else would ever believe.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	5. Losing Her Religion

_A/N: Kind of very angsty!Quinn. Just a warning. I don't know why, but the only Quinn I'm any good at (and enjoy writing) is angsty!/regretful!Quinn._

_Set after 'Grilled Cheesus', kind of._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

This is the part where Quinn should be walking into church.

This is the part where she should be taking her seat. This is the part where she should be opening to hymn book to follow along, even though she knows every single one in the book by heart. This is the part where she should be closing her eyes and bowing her head as the pastor leads them all in prayer.

She might be going to Hell for this, she thinks, as she sits on a swing in the park one Sunday morning. But the whole reason that she's here instead of in church in the first place is because she isn't sure she believes in any of that stuff anymore; so she isn't really too concerned about whatever consequences it could have on her immortal soul.

Ever since she can remember, her religion and her faith in God has been the center of her universe. She could probably count on one hand the memorable events of her childhood that happened outside of her church. Her parents being important pillars of the community, she being the bright young soul who sang in choir and received communion with the most grateful smile upon her face; she was practically born the poster girl of Christianity in a small town, her family the model everyone else strived to aspire to.

If only they knew, she thinks bitterly.

She'd like to say that she still believes in God … that the only thing the events of the past year have affected is her view of the church and her parents. But she's having a hard time believing in anything that could make a human being so hypocritical and judgmental … having a hard time believing in a divine power when her own parents turned their backs on her when she needed them most.

Maybe it's a beyond selfish mindset; to think that there's no God just because her life has gone down to toilet. But that's how she feels. She's not pure anymore, not the epitome of perfection she was before her pregnancy. She can never wear pure white at her wedding in good conscience, can never view having children the same way; never be able to look at them without thinking of the little girl she gave up. She can never rejoin the celibacy club at school (let alone lead it) without having people laugh in her face.

She'll never be able to read a verse in the bible without wanting to scoff or roll her eyes.

Not that she hasn't been trying; this past week of preaching to Kurt and to the club about how important her religion is to her … suggesting the prayer circle around Burt Hummel's hospital bed, with Carole's blessing but not one from the person who really matters. But the whole time, she felt like a fraud. Every time she closed her eyes and bowed her head and tried to speak to the man upstairs, she wanted to scream at him. Tell him to stop playing with the lives of people who are needed so much; to stop torturing innocent people.

This is the part where she should be ducking out of the church from her recent seating choice of the back pew before anyone can see her face and banish her from the congregation or refuse her entrance to the building. (She knows she'll never be welcomed back with open arms; and that's why she thinks the whole thing is a scam, because people are supposed to forgive those who've sinned and welcome them back into the path towards what's right … not closed their doors and shun a lost soul looking for some kind of salvation.)

But she isn't; and for whatever reason she has to justify it, that's all it comes down to.

_-0-0-_

_Pretty please review, with a cherry on top!_


	6. A Phone Conversation

_A/N: I've been missing Matt lately now that he's gone, so last night I posted a Berryford oneshot entitled 'atop the roof'. That's why I didn't get this done last night in time to post it! It's a phone conversation post-_Grilled Cheesus _between Mike and Matt. Mike starts talking first; I hope it isn't too confusing. It turned out pretty long (for a drabble), but I decided to keep it as one anyways._

_I hope to have another one up today to get back on track, but I can't make any promises at the moment. Sorry._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"Dude, you'd never believe half of what's going on in Glee right now, seriously."

"Why? What's up?"

"Rachel and Finn are actually still together, Puck got a vasectomy, and Artie joined the football team."

"No way, they haven't broken up yet? And Artie did _what_?"

"Yeah, I know, right? It's crazy. And he's seriously _on_ the football team; like, playing in games. Oh, and we won one!"

"Dude, seriously? That's insane. How come all the interesting stuff happens once I leave?"

"Well, it's not like last year wasn't interesting enough. I mean, the whole pregnancy alone takes the cake without the daddy scandal mixed in with it. And the Jesse/Vocal Adrenaline thing was messed, too … not to mention Puck and Mercedes getting it on."

"True … and yeah, those two were just kind of freaky together."

"Yeah … but you still don't even know the half of what's going on this year!"

"Well then, _tell_ me, dumbass."

"You don't have to be so pushy, jeez … But there was this foreign exchange chick that totally rocked it hard like Mercedes and Rachel _combined_ … but Rachel went all batshit-jealous on her ass and she ended up being bought by VA. And there's this new guy Sam who rocked out on Billionaire with us but never showed up for his audition, because he was afraid of what it would do to his reputation now that he made quarterback when Finn was kicked off originally and tried out for the Cheerios. And,"

"Hold up, Finn a cheerleader? No way in hell."

"Well it's not like he _made_ the squad. He probably sucked, because he has all the coordination of Frankenstein and Quasimodo. But he freaked out because without football he had nothing to keep up his reputation with Glee bringing it down so much … He got back on, though. And Quinn got back on the Cheerios."

"Wow … wasn't Sylvester, like, _determined_ to keep her off for eternity or something?"

"Probably, but Santana got a secret boob job over the summer – not like everyone couldn't _tell_ just by looking at her – and Sylvester was too busy going psycho on _her_ to not give Quinn back her uniform and title."

"Okay, the boob job I believe. It was only a matter of time."

"I know … but yeah, and then Miss Pillsbury's new dentist boyfriend …"

"Wait, she and Schue aren't doing it yet?"

"No, that surprised me too. Anyways, her dentist bf came in and preached to us all about dental hygiene, and everyone ended up tripping out on anesthesia to the tune of Britney Spears. And apparently Brittany can actually, like, _sing_. It's insane. But she had a whole identity crisis at the same time as Rachel, who started dressing like Britney from the _Hit Me Baby One More Time_ era and caused Jewfro to jack up the creepiness to a whole new level. And I'm pretty sure she and Finn had some issues, but they resolved it; which is weird. Then Mr. Schue has a crisis of his own with Miss P and performed _Toxic_ with us …"

"Woah, that's kind of like _really_ wrong."

"… Which was jacked up … and then Sue went crazy _again_ and pulled the fire alarm because she thought there was some kind of sex riot starting up."

"I … don't know what to say to that one, to be perfectly honest. That's just odd."

"Yeah, I know. And then this week Finn started going on about an image of Jesus on his grilled cheese, and now he's jumped on the religious bandwagon and started trying to connect to God and stuff through song. So Mr. Schue made it our assignment for the week, and Puck started going on about how spirituality was more important than religion … I wasn't really listening, but he sang _Only The Good Die Young_ and that was pretty cool."

"Yeah, good song; I can see him doing that one."

"Then Kurt's dad had a heart attack, and he preached about how he didn't believe in God, and compared him to a retarded monkey on the other side of the moon or something, which obviously pissed Quinn off … but nobody could really blame him because of his dad. And everything was just kind of sad and depressing for the week, because we didn't know how to act around Kurt."

"Woah, is he alright now?"

"Last I heard he was just waking up from the coma … so I guess that's better than it was."

"That really sucks, that he had to go through that."

"Yeah …"

"Anything else that I don't know about since I left?"

"Um, no, I think that's it … Oh! I totally forgot to tell you; Tina and I are dating now."

"Ha! Now _that_ I really can't believe."

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	7. To Let Yourself Go

_A/N: Puck in juvie? Hell to the naw, not cool Ryan Murphy -.-. And didn't really like Rachel in this episode ... but loved the Quinn and sam thing going on, for some strange reason ..._

_The Brittany Artie storyline started out awkward and out of place, but turned into something interesting, I think. And loved the Mike/Tina and Tina/Artie elements going on!_

_Sorry for the delay, guys, been busy. This one's from Quinn's POV, and nothing like her last piece I don't think, but I hope you like it anyways!_

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! And remember, requests are never unwelcome!_

_-0-0-_

You're afraid.

When you saw Sam strumming that guitar, saw his lips looming ever closer to yours … your mind flashed Puck. He was all around you suddenly, even though he's miles upon miles away. It was like That Night a year ago; with wine coolers running through your veins and his body on top of yours, reassuring you. That same feeling in your gut, of rebellion and of the unknown; your feelings still manage to surprise you … manage to make you feel as guilty as having a child out of wedlock did.

You're not supposed to feel like this. You promised yourself that you wouldn't, ever again. You went down that road, and look where you ended up? You're not prepared to go down it again when you're only just finally stumbling back onto the path you spent years carving for yourself. Not yet, at least. Not before you're out of high school and know what you want out of life; not until you have something steady to keep you grounded.

He makes you feel something, though. He makes things flutter deep in your stomach, makes you want to fly away with him; hold on to _him_ instead of the ground. He makes you want to smile … more real than you have in a long, long time. When you sing together, you feel good; genuinely good.

And it scares the heck out of you.

Because you're stronger than this; stronger than you were before. You can stand on your own two feet now, you don't need anyone else. (You're not supposed to want anyone else; you don't even deserve them.)

But he kind of makes you not care about that as much. And sure, that scares you a whole lot more; but maybe it's time you let loose, in a healthy way. You know what kind of mistakes not to make (because you've already made them) … you're prepared for almost anything. So really, maybe you should take this chance …

He's sweet and funny, if a little clueless ... but you loved Finn, and he wrote the _book_ on clueless. He's genuine, at the very least, and sincere. And you overheard someone talking about how he was going to keep his word to Kurt, because it was more important than his reputation; which is not something Finn _ever_ would have done.

So you do. You let yourself smile, and shake your head jokingly; you let yourself look at him, and feel your heart swell; you let feelings arise, and you let go …

And that's how a duet prize dinner turned into your and Sam's first date.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	8. Trying

_A/N: Had to do something for Rachel, even if her part in tonight's episode was lacking and I'll admit, rather annoying. I have to justify everything somehow, because I still love her and all her possibility despite what's being written for her as of late._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

You're selfish.

You're aware of it, and it's never really bothered you before. You are used to doing whatever it takes to achieve nothing but the best for yourself; and you're used to succeeding. Ever since that first dance competition when you were eight months old, you've been the best. (You've been the shining star.)

And what's so wrong with that? What's so wrong with _wanting_ that?

What's so wrong with wanting recognition for everything you work so hard for? You've dedicated your life to performing, and all it's ever gotten you – besides the trophies and the first place titles – is scorn and ridicule from your peers … for lack of a better word. Everyone hated you for being successful, and now they hate you for being you. (If only they'd realize that you are the way you are for no other reason than how they treated you in the beginning.)

You've always been the social pariah; for no reason. Now you've _given_ them a reason, by being insufferable, and not fitting in. You never knew _how_ to fit in; you never had anyone to kindly knock you down a few pegs when you needed it to be done … and now you think you might just be past the point of no return.

You don't have any friends; all you have is Finn.

He's amazing, he really is, and you love him. He's wonderful, and he makes you feel better than anyone else ever has. He makes you want to be more; he makes you want to be a better person (kinder, and more selfless). And you're trying; you really are. You're trying _so_ hard to change.

But he points it out as soon as he realizes it; the fact that you're failing. It hurts, deep down inside, to know that you're barely any closer to being that better person than you were last year, but it's the truth all the same. You're still incredibly selfish.

You still have quite a long way to go … But you're trying.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	9. Can't Believe Him, But She Can

_A/N: Just a quick update. Sorry, guys, been distracted watching Lie To Me from it's beginning; and now off to watch the new episode of Big Bang Theory! This one is from Rachel's POV. Self-explanatory once you start reading it._

_Sorry, it's a semi-short one._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

She can't believe him!

How can he be so utterly idiotic and insensitive, as to get himself into juvenile detention when the Glee club needs him? They were already in need of a replacement for Matt; even with Sam in the club now, they only have eleven members. If Noah doesn't somehow manage to get free within the next couple of months, they won't have enough members to participate in Sectionals; if they don't participate in Sectionals, they can't win Sectionals; if they don't win Sectionals, they can't compete in Regionals; if they don't compete in Regionals, they can't win Regionals; and if they can't win Regionals, they can't go to Nationals in New York City!

It's not as if anyone else at McKinley is knocking down their door trying to get into the club; they're the lowest of the low on the social hierarchy, and are damn lucky to have gotten Sam in the first place. There's no way they're going to get anyone else; not since Sunshine transferred to Carmel. (Which Rachel can admit, is her fault. But really, she was only trying to protect herself … and of course, the rest of club as well.)

It's unacceptable; and completely outrageous. And if Puckerman weren't so damned self-depreciating because everyone who has ever known him – including his family – has no faith or belief in him whatsoever, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to steal his mom's truck and go for a joyride and land himself on the wrong side of the law. And, by extension, they (as in _she_) wouldn't have this dilemma on their (_her_) hands.

It's his fault for doing it; but it isn't, really. At least she can't find it within herself to lay the blame solely upon his shoulders. She wants to be pissed … and she is, she supposes … but she just feels terrible for him. She can't believe that anyone could be such a natural delinquent simply from birth; it's a learned behavior, and she just wishes someone had taken the time to show him that he's worth something. (That he's not a Lima Loser, no matter what The Queen of McKinley chooses to mistakenly believe.)

He's worth so much more … he just doesn't see it.

And because of that, they (she and he) find themselves in this wretched mess.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	10. Knows She Shouldn't, But

_A/N: Sorry, guys, still stuck in the realm of Lie To Me, and now Lie To Me Fanfiction as well (;. If you like that fandom, I'll soon be posting stories for it under the Pen Name **GingerLiar**. Just awaiting my first two days to be up!_

_Anyways, this one's self-explanatory once it starts, I think._

_Happy Sunday, everyone (:._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

Tina knows she shouldn't, but she can't help a stab of jealousy in her heart when she sees Brittany wheeling him down the hall.

Because she used to be the only one he trusted to do that. He told her once that he didn't like giving over the reins to anyone, didn't like the feeling of not having control. Needless to say that after that conversation she'd appreciated the gesture so much more every time he let her push him around the school. But now that perfect (if rather dim), blonde Cheerio is doing it, and how the heck is she supposed to compete with that?

She remembers shortly after that she's not _in_ that competition any longer. She's dating Mike now, and they go on nice Asian dates, and hang out at his house with his nice Asian parents; but she can't help it if maybe she's a little totally sick and tired of all the nice, Asian-_ness_! She misses hanging out with Artie, and watching Star Wars and Star Trek, and listening to him play guitar for her when they'd lie on his bed … She missed _him_, period.

Because even if they broke up and she's (they're _both_, actually) with someone else, he's her best friend. And even if they haven't spoken in forever, he'll continue to be. He'll always be that person she wants comfort from when she's upset, because he knows her well enough – better than anyone else – to care for her in a way that Mike just doesn't understand.

But now it seems he's moved on too, and she isn't sure what to make of that. She can't deny that she liked it better when he was pining over her … Because she can't stand the thought of him being with anybody else; she can't find the strength within her to happily step back and leave the path clear for him be happy with anyone else. It's selfish of her, she knows; to want him to either be with her, or be miserable (especially when she's taken that first option away from him).

Even though logically, she knows that she should.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	11. Purple

_A/N: I know, I'm terrible. As you can see, I'm not living up to my one-a-day standard with this set, and I probably won't for a while. With school and my new love of _Lie To Me_, I just don't have as much time for Glee fics right now. But I am working on the few sequels I promised for stories in this fandom (as well as my much-negelcted character piece series), and _have not_ and _will not_ be abandoning this collection. Updates will just be more ... sporadic._

_Thanks so much guys for reading and reviewing, you rock! I love each and every one of you. In a healthy, friendly sort of way ... Imma stop now, lol._

_Anyways, this one is because today was 'wear purple day' everywhere I know of to show support for recent teen suicides and to stand up to bullying. That's what gave me this inspiration._

_Hope you enjoy! (:_

_-0-0-_

After awhile, it's hard.

To pretend that nothing people say affects her.

Because really, a person can't go forever being called a loser and a freak without starting to believe it; and it's not just the name-calling. It's the belittling, and the cruelty, and the slushies in the face, and the spray-painted words on her locker, and the pornographic pictures in the bathroom, and … just everything combined.

It's people scoffing at her when she gets up to talk; it's the indifferent nature they carry when they leave her out of group plans and talk about her as though she isn't there; it's the way they seem to think that they're worth more than her. Like she's the sub-sub-sub-basement, below even the rest of the glee-clubbers; because God forbid they have to acknowledge their association with her outside the group.

It's hard to hold her chin up and keep on walking in the hallway, knowing that they all hate her.

-0-0-

She can't help but scoff.

It's completely ridiculous, is what it is. These people smiling at each other and showcasing their bright purple bandanas and skinny jeans and T-shirts. As though they don't saunter around every day, treating her in the way they're openly protesting against.

Because today, and wearing purple, isn't just about mourning the deaths of those poor teen suicide victims in recent months and years (which the school participating in of itself is almost laughable, with this cow town's small-minded view of homosexuals and anyone who's different) … it's about showing that they're not going to tolerate anyone being bullied in what's supposed to be a safe environment. It's about showcasing that this generation can and _will_ make a difference as far as prejudice is concerned.

And she herself can stand testimony to at least fifty of these seventy people in her vicinity doing something cruel or hurtful or stupid to one of their peers; (oftentimes herself).

But she just smiles, kisses Finn on the cheek as she opens her locker, praises his purple shirt while he comments on her own, and pretends as though there isn't anything wrong. Because it's _hard_ to go about like normal when everyone sees her as anything but (normal, that is) …

But it's not _impossible_. She _is_ Rachel Berry, after all.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	12. Done

_A/N: And so I'm back once again, briefly! I'm not going to be annoying and apologize every time for no longer giving you daily posts, so I'll just get on with it! Wrote this because I just needed to put an end to Finn and Rachel for myself, for today. Not saying I won't write some Finchel in the future, because I _will_ ... if only because it's the canon (;. But I'm really just not in the mood for them right now, lol._

_Sorry, Finchel-shippers ..._

_The rest of you, hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

When she breaks up with Finn, she goes to the bleachers.

She's not (consciously) sure why, but she does. She likes it here. Maybe she shouldn't, what with the history she has in this very spot, but there's something calming about sitting on the cool metal and looking out over the football field. Something oddly comforting about knowing that these four years of her life are suspiciously like a game; suspenseful and a never-ending competition _during_ ... but years after it's over, people aren't going to remember the score or who fumbled in the second quarter. It's not really going to matter all that much whether she wore jeans or knee socks, name-brand tees or knit-cardigans. (Not going to matter if she was in Glee club or on the Cheerios, whether she was popular or the school freak.)

She's really ready to move on this time, she thinks. Or at least, she _hopes_ … Because she's so over-tired of the back-and-forth game they've had going on between them since last year. The up times were good and pleasant and wonderful, but the down times were too horrible to put up with. She just wants it to be over. She still cares for him, of course … but it's so much easier to just be apart indefinitely, she thinks; to not be unsure and frightened and confused all the time.

He doesn't understand that. She knows, because the entire time she was trying to let him down gently he was staring at her with that more-annoying-than-adorable confused expression of his, and when it was over he didn't have a clue what she had just done. (That she had just brought their relationship to an end.) And even once he did, she could tell that he didn't understand – or agree with – her reasoning.

_I'm sorry, Finn, but sometimes love isn't enough to justify the pain in the end_, she'd told him, before turning and coming here, ignoring his calls after her insisting that they could work it out. (Of _course_ they could work it out … temporarily. But it's never more than temporary, is it? And she needs something more concrete, something that she can honestly believe will last. Not something she'll be questioning for the rest of her life.) Tomorrow she'll have to deal with him again, of that she has no doubt. He won't give up without a fight – a trait she'd admired until it became more inconvenient than endearing – and not without saying his piece.

But it won't change anything; won't change her mind on the matter.

Because she's finally done; she'll be back here, no doubt, to think it over and wonder if maybe it could have worked out, to doubt her decision … but she is done.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	13. So Not Jealous

_A/N: Phone conversation between Puck and Quinn; pretty much follows canon, I think. For **x(dot)gLeek(dot)**_**xx**_, who totally rocks for reviewing consistently! (: More undertones of Puck/Quinn than outright, and they're kind of in denial ... but it's the best I could do for them at the moment, sorry._

_Wemma coming up next at request; any help with ideas for them would be greatly appreciated!_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"So … I heard you're with that new kid now, what's his name."

"His name's Sam. And how did you hear that? You're in Juvie; not exactly gossip central for the goings on of McKinley."

"Don't need to remind me, Q, it's pretty hard to forget. And Rachel told me."

"Oh, so you two are chatting lots?"

"More like she talks my ear off about all the shitty songs you're doing in Glee; as if I'd practice them even if I had the sheet music. The duet competition slipped out, and she just kept rambling on about everyone."

"Diverting the attention much, Puck? What's going on with you and Queen of the Freaks?"

"Nothing, Q, jeez; you _jealous_ or some shit?"

"Ha, don't flatter yourself. I'm just wondering if I should warn Finn that his girlfriend isn't as into him as everyone thinks."

"Well, I can't say I blame her if she's got a crush on the Puckerone; but that would be her problem, not mine. And if she isn't all for Wonder Boy anymore, kudos to her; dude's kind of a shitty boyfriend, you gotta admit."

"One might think would you'd be kinder to the best friend you betrayed in one of the worst ways; but they'd be wrong, apparently, wouldn't they?"

"Hey, don't act all high and mighty; that shit was fifty-percent your fault, too. And it's not like I'm not sorry I slept with his girl, an' all, but I'm not gonna sugarcoat it and pretend that he's the fucking saint everyone thinks he is."

"Fine, just consider the fact that maybe he's putting the effort in with Rachel and doing it right this time around."

"Whatever. And speaking of diversion … _Sam_, huh?"

"Shut it, Puckerman. It's not anything. Just a duet and a free prize dinner at Breadstix; it wasn't even a date."

"You don't sound so sure of yourself, Q, wanna try that again?"

"I'm perfectly sure. What's it to you, anyways? _You_ jealous; the almighty Puck feeling _threatened_?"

"Been there, done that, Q; or don't you remember? Why should I be jealous?"

"Ugh, don't remind me. Once was definitely more than enough."

"You know you enjoyed it, you don't have to put on the uptight Catholic girl act. That all went to hell last year, anyway."

"It's not an act, trust me. Whatever, have fun in Juvie; try not to do anything else illegal while you're there. Rachel would lose her shit if you're not back for Sectionals, and I'd be stuck listening to her while you're safe miles away from her wrath. See you around … eventually."

"Nice to know you miss me; love you, too."

"Good-_bye_, Puck."

"Bye, Q."

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	14. Satisfaction Turned Sorrow

_A/N: Kayso, the Wemma didn't work out so well ... still struggling for inspiration on that one. But how about some Artie!angst with strong Artie/Tina vibes? Hope you don't mind, because that's what this is!_

_Hope you enjoy (:_

_-0-0-_

Is it terrible that he has a sort of twisted joy at turning and rolling away from her?

He thinks that it probably is … but there's something satisfying about knowing that he wasn't being left in the dust by Tina, that it's the other way around this time. Because sure, she has Mike now, but he has Brittany and he's not the one moping about and watching after his ex as she moves on.

So what if Brittany's … Brittany. They don't have stimulating conversations, or share a lot of interests, and she can't do runs as well as Tina, and he _really_ doesn't feel very comfortable when she's pushing him through the hallway (because what if she were to get distracted by a butterfly outside a window and somehow manage to steer him into an angry jock or down the stairs, leading to more perilous injury than he already has) … But she's pretty, and she's nice, and she's popular. This makes him and Tina even now, at the very least.

Except, he's still kind of miserable … Because Brittany really just doesn't measure up to Tina. Tina was his best friend for so long, she understands him the way he understands her; and he loves her. He doesn't love Brittany, not in the right way and not enough.

Too bad it takes them having sex for him to realize that it just isn't working; to realize that he can't replace Tina, no matter how hard he tries and with whom.

So that twisted joy, and satisfaction?

Make that depression and sorrow now. Because he doesn't have Brittany anymore; he doesn't have Tina; she and Mike are still going strong (ugh, them and their stupidly cute _Asian_-ness); and really, all because of a stupid marathon Halo marathon.

Oh, if only …

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	15. Will 2

_A/N: Caught the later show, at 10 o' clock my time, so this might not be posted very soon after you, wherever you are, saw _The Rocky Horror Glee Show_, but I don't think 19 minutes of writing and editing is too shabby (;. From Will's perspective, because he just kept disappointing me in this episode and making me uncomfortable._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

He's disappointed … in himself.

Will really doesn't know what he was thinking; as much of an anthem as Rocky Horror is to outcasts everywhere, the public (especially the public in Lima, Ohio) just isn't ready to give the breakthrough push of letting it be put on by a high school … _And really, Emma wasn't too far off when she said that he'd have to cut most of the play to make it acceptable. The content doesn't come ready-made for school board approval, that's for sure._

And he should have started out with better intentions than going after Emma. He used to think he was a better guy than that; than to chase after another guy's girl (no matter how much it feels like she's his). If he had gone into the process with a more stable mindset, he could have done it right, he thinks; _maybe, almost_. He at least could have made the proper arrangements from the beginning; made sure Finn was comfortable the right way, and gotten Sam a pair gold board shorts right off the bat instead of trying to take over the role … (There's really no appropriate way to spin that.)

It was a mess, in the end, really. If it weren't for their impromptu performance (for their audience of one) of _The Time Warp_ and the looks on the kids faces during and after, he'd write the whole experience off as a failure.

But it came to _mean_ something to them, at least, if that's all.

(He's proud of them. For sticking through and putting up with him while he lost his mind, for trying so hard to make it work.

It wasn't their fault; just his.)

As for his next game plan, he isn't sure. (Just because he's had a revelation/epiphany as far as Emma and Carl are concerned doesn't mean he's putting away the old drawing board for good.) He thinks it'd be best to wait it out a bit, let it all cool down, let her be happy. _Because, in the end, he thinks he could live without her if he knew it was what's best. Not easily, but he could; for her._

But only once he's completely sure that she's as happy with Carl as she'll ever be with anyone.

And he definitely isn't quite _there_ yet.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	16. Fighting

_A/N: Been a while ... haven't had the time or the inspiration, sorry._

_Hey, quick shoutout: **cx7171** has a great fic going entitled 'Last Note'. Kind of horror movie-ish, but well done. I'm the beta, which I'm super excited about (:, and I know she'd appreciate if you checked it out and gave her some feedback._

_Now, this drabble's kind of spoilery for Duets, because Santana and Brittany weren't really on the best of terms. I don't think they had much interaction in Rocky Horror, so this is under the assumption that they're still not back to normal. From Brittany's POV, because I couldn't resist._

_Thank for being so patient guys._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

She doesn't like fighting with San.

It's not like they ever yell or anything; (nobody really yells at her. She thinks it's because she usually gets emotional when they do, and no one likes seeing her cry. Even when Artie was upset with her, after they went out and slept together, he didn't yell. She's glad. She hates yelling a lot more than fighting). But they're not really getting along right now, and she's not sure what she's supposed to do.

Because she does _everything_ with Santana; and lately she keeps getting lost on her way to class (and forgetting what class she's supposed to be going to in the first place), and all her teachers are upset because she's not doing the homework. (She doesn't have anyone to copy off of right now.) She gets confused a lot in Cheerios practice without San to imitate, and to whisper directions in her ear. Coach Sylvester _does_ yell a _lot_, especially when they mess up; which she's been doing a lot.

She misses her best friend; which is odd, because S isn't even ever that far away … and she didn't think you could miss anyone who didn't even leave. But she hasn't come over after school in a while, and they haven't gone to the mall in over a week, and she doesn't remember the last time they linked pinkies in the hallway … it must have been _days_. And they haven't made out, either. Which sucks, because San's super experienced and her lips are softer than Kurt's, even.

She wonders if San's still her friend … She doesn't know anymore. She sure wants her to be, but ever since they did the duets it's like Santana's mad at her. (Is Mercedes her new friend?) She doesn't know what she did wrong, but she wishes she knew so she could at least apologize for it. Totally take it back, even …

Because she doesn't like fighting with her BFF.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	17. She Chose Him

_A/N: Sorry, sorry; I know. Too long, again. But I have tomorrow off school, and plan to write a lot on my long weekend! (:_

_This one's from Mike's point of view. I've done a drabble with an essence similar to this one, but I wrote this one with different feelings and intent from where he's coming from, so I decided to post it anyways._

_Hope you enjoy! [Now I've got to go not be a terrible beta and look over cx7171's latest chapter (;.]_

_-0-0-_

It's hard to sit in Glee club beside his girlfriend, knowing that another guy is sitting not too far away with his eyes on her; _wanting_ her, _missing_ her … _loving_ her.

He doesn't like it. (Partially because _he_'s dating her, damn it, and can't Artie keep his moon eyes to himself?) Mostly because there's this clenching feeling deep down in his gut, and it's like he's just _waiting_ for her to tell him that she doesn't love him; not enough, at least, and not in the right way. That she's still too in love with Artie, and moving on isn't working out to be as easy as she thought (hoped) it would.

He certainly doesn't _want _that to have to happen, but he can't seem get over the possibility of it.

He can't help but feel like maybe she and Artie together are a better fit than Tina and himself. Sure, they've got the whole Asian bit working for them, and his slick moves match her strikingly sweet vocals … But Artie and Tina have been best friends ever since she moved to Lima in the sixth grade – give or take a couple rough patches along the way. They _make sense_. And Wheels will always outdo him as far as singing with her goes; his deep, smooth timbre accompanies her better, no doubt in his mind.

He doesn't like it, but he keeps his silence. And when (and it's an eventuality in his mind) she decides to break up with him, he'll accept it; because he doesn't want her to stay with him if she's only going to miserable, after all. But he's going to make the absolute most of the time with her he has. (He's not stupid enough to let it pass him by unappreciated; he knows a good thing, and he's surely found one in her.)

Because maybe she's destined to be with Artie forever after, to get married, and have kids, and grow old together in their sickening cuteness (yeah, he's given that eventuality a disturbing amount of thought and speculation); but for right now?

She chose him.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	18. Best Friends Forever

_A/N: Two days in a row again! Finally! (;_

_Conversation between Mercedes and Kurt, spoilers for upcoming episode 'Never Been Kissed'._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"Are you really planning on switching schools?" Mercedes asks Kurt over the phone as she does her nails. "Not that I don't understand why you'd want to get out – hell, so do I – but are you going to abandon me and leave me all alone at McKinley?"

"You'd hardly be _all alone_," Kurt protests, deflecting. He holds his cell phone between his ear and shoulder while flipping through one of his stacks of sheet music, trying to choose a song to perform for this week's glee assignment. "Quinn and you are chummy now, and Tina and Artie are still around."

"None of them is my best friend, Kurt," she tells him with a sigh, followed by a beat of silence. "So, are you switching out?"

It's his turn to sigh now as he puts down the giant stack of paper on his desk and grabs the phone with his hand. "I don't know," he mumbles, running a hand through his perfectly groomed and hardly even caring as it sits out of place, "Maybe? This could be my chance, 'Cedes; my _one_ chance before graduating – and inevitably going off to some faraway place to live out my dreams – to get out of the hell-hole so inaccurately described as a place of learning."

"I know," she murmurs back, placing the nail polish down and blowing on her fingers. "I don't have to like it, though, do I? Because I won't be able to put on a smile and wave goodbye to you happily, you know."

He chuckles quietly, replying, "Don't worry, M, you can be as miserable and undignified as you want in that scenario." He hears a sarcastic _thanks_ before he continues, acting as though she hadn't said anything at all. "And besides, it's not concrete or anything. I've only mentioned it to my dad in passing, so even if I was all gung-ho for it, it might fall through."

"You'll keep in touch, though, right? If you _do_ go …"

"Of course I would! No matter what school we're going to, or how far away we are from each other. Best friends forever, right? And 'forever' has no boundaries by its very definition."

"Right."

_-0-0-_

_Ending's kind of awful ... But please review anyways!_


	19. Control

_A/N: Three days in a row! This one's short, but still! (:_

_Rachel-centric, because she'll always be my writing default. Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

If there's one thing Rachel Berry strives for (besides Broadway and perfection), it's control.

It's why she likes being with Finn so much, she thinks. Because it might seem like there are so many aspects of their relationship that are out of her control, but he listens to her (or at least pretends to) and accepts her ideas. He mostly follows behind her blindly, and lets her take the lead. His more laidback nature compliments her own 'uptight' (as it has been described) one.

That's the one thing that she could never gain in the week she dated Noah; a sense of power and control. While, admittedly, there are means she could have used to manipulate and persuade him, he's not one to hand control over easily. He's much like her in the way that he doesn't deal well with being out of his element.

She'd like to be able to say that she isn't some completely psycho freak who needs to have control over everything around them to be truly satisfied … but she thinks she kind of _is_. Of course, it's impossible to have total control over _everything_; she knows that. It's why she's so uncomfortable and unsure in her surroundings all the time; because there are so many variables that she can't influence in her favor, so many things that she can't ensure will run smoothly.

But what's so wrong with wanting control, anyways? Doesn't everyone wish deep down for it?

She's just sick and tired of feeling like nothing's going right; she just wants to be able to fix it. If that makes her a freak and a loser … then it's not really _her _who has the problem, now is it?

_-0-0-_

_A/N(2): I didn't enjoy taking a shot at Puckleberry, or supporting Finchel ... but it was necessary for the story. P/R is still my OTP, though._

_Please review!_


	20. Of Libraries & Laughter

_A/N: I am on a roll! And this one's longer, too!_

_-Kay, so ... got my first flame/hate review for the last drabble. To the anonymous 'Trisha' I'd like to apologize if I offended you (which I feel I did). I meant no hate to the Finchel pairing, and in the bottom author's note I was just simply expressing myself. I also wasn't trying to say that the only reason Rachel is with Finn is for control. That's just the aspect of their relationship that I focused on for the sake of the drabble. Again, I apologize if you felt like I was bashing them._

_-However, I'm offended myself by your blatant bashing of my OTP, and I think you should be more open. I certainly feel no hate for any pairing people enjoy; though apparently you feel I came off as though I did. (Sorry.) Also, I'm not sure if you were calling Rachel or myself a 'FUGLY SLUT!', but I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from such offending comments. If you don't like what you read, move on and forget about it. That's all I have to say; and I really _am_ sorry._

_Sorry to the rest for waisting space here, but I had no other means of replying. On with the drabble! It's about Sam and Quinn, BTW; I think I should mention that here, because I don't think I mentioned their names in the actual drabble (;. Oops._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

_Infuriating_, she thinks to herself, gritting her teeth and clenching the hand holding her History textbook on the table.

"Will you _cut that out_," she hisses at him, rolling her eyes when the librarian pops out of nowhere and _shush_es her; as if _she_'s the one who's been tapping a pencil against the table for a solid five minutes.

"Sorry," she hears him whisper, the only break in the newly restored silence.

She doesn't look up, because that crooked smile of his is just too darn endearing, and she's in the mood to be mad right now.

A few moments of sweet silence before …

_Tap_.

She loses it at that, slamming her textbook closed and glaring at him. "Would you mind?" she hisses, looking around to make sure the crabby librarian's gone. "I'm trying to study here so I don't fail my midterm."

"Like you could ever fail," he rolls his eyes, "You're on the honor role, and you've got a 4.0 GPA."

"Only because I focus on my studies," she argues back, "Which is becoming increasingly hard to do." _What with you hanging around so much, I'm surprised my average hasn't dropped yet._

"Sorry," he says again, and she sighs, the fight leaving her body. Because he doesn't _try_ to be a hindrance, she knows; and because of that darn smile.

"It's okay," she tells him gently, the anger washing out of her like the tide going out. It's not him she's mad at, anyway, and he seems to realize that. He doesn't ask what's wrong, though, because he knows she doesn't like it when anyone pries … But she can see the question and concern in his eyes.

"_Ahem_," intones a voice from behind them, and she turns to see Mrs. Randall with a stern look upon her face and her finger pointed towards the door. She bites down on her lip to stop the smile that's threatening to appear, because she really _shouldn't_ find it this hilarious … or hilarious at all. She packs up her books with a stony calm on her face.

But she can't help the giggle that escapes her when the door slams shut behind them, and he raises a brow at her questioningly. "I've never been kicked out of a library before," she tells him breathlessly, laughing again. He just looks at her, because _how is that funny?_ But just the look on her face is enough to have him laughing too, and it's so absurd that they just can't stop.

(He likes her laugh, he's decided; especially this one. He's never heard it so free, genuine or open before.)

It feels good to laugh, she decides; and to smile (which she hasn't done near enough of lately, she knows).

"Can you give me a ride home?" she asks him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. He nods and smile, wrapping an arm lightly around her waist in a brief hug before letting go and leading her over to his blue Jetta. (He doesn't dare hold her too long for fear she'll freak out and pull away.)

She decides that maybe she'll invite him in for dinner tonight … and maybe – just maybe – she'll finally open up to him. About whom she's angry with, about why she's so protective of herself, about who she is (and tries so hard to be), and how she feels … and just maybe it'll be nice, to finally have someone she can talk to; someone that she doesn't have to hide from.

She thinks she really wants that someone to be him.

_-0-0-_

_Please review! (But no flames, please, if you can refrain.)_


	21. Rock & A Hard Place

_A/N: So ... I'm just going to remind you how good I was last weekend and ask you to skim over the fact I skipped out on this week. Sorry! In my defense, though, I didn't have a chance to watch _Never Been Kissed_ until last night. And wow, did I miss a lot! Wasn't that episode just amazing and heartbreaking and insane and wonderful? Wow. Never have I loved Kurt so much! And I'm now in love with Blaine as well! And let us not forget the spectacular mash-ups!_

_So, this one's from Kurt's POV (of course). How could I not after everything in that episode? (Spoilers and references to episode 6 of season 2._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

The knowledge of Karofsky's sexuality comes as a shock to Kurt, for sure. Never had he imagined – for even the briefest of moments – _that_ to be the underlying cause of Karofsky's cruelty and lack of open-mindedness towards Kurt's openness and confidence in his own sexuality. (He knows who he is; it may not be widely accepted – at all – but he's not going to hide for anyone else's benefit.)

He hates Karofsky, to be sure. This new information come to light doesn't change or validate any of the things the Neanderthal hockey player has done to him since that first day of freshman year; or anyone else, for that matter. In fact, the kiss itself was an invasion of boundaries he'd never expected, and one that he's pretty sure is _far_ from okay … if anything, it makes him hate Karofsky even more.

But now there's this little voice in the back of his head, nagging at him, that refuses to be gone. One that makes him a little more pitying than angry every time the aforementioned puck-head drives him into a set of lockers or trips him in the hallway. Because _his_ dad is supportive, and accepts him for who he is … But Kurt knows that in a town like Lima, the chances that Dave's dad would do the same are minimal. He was obviously brought up with a prejudiced outlook, and has now turned that prejudice inward. A dangerous practice, to be sure: to hate yourself for something out of your control … even worse to feel like you can change it somehow, and to do so at any cost.

He feels sorry for Karofsky.

Though it's not as if he can let that show that he does … He knows that he wouldn't appreciate it; it would most likely set spark to an already volatile fuse deep within him, actually. To have the very mascot of everything he despises in society and in himself, seemingly looking _down_ on him … it would be too much.

He doesn't know what to do. He can't just stand by and let himself be pushed around; he can't run away and let his dad sacrifice their financial security to send him to Dalton; he can't keep standing up to Karofsky so strongly, the way he did in the locker room, without serious risk of uncontrollable aggravation …

If ever there was a rock and a hard place to be stuck between, he's there.

And, after how well his _last_ plan went, he's not sure if even Blaine has sufficient enough advice to get him out of this mess.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	22. Rhinoceros

_A/N: Been busy! Made a livejournal account, so I've been slowly (very slowly) re-posting all of my stories over there. (Except the drabbles; way too many, way too little time.) Of course, you can just read them all here, so ... yeah. And don't worry, I won't ever hold anything out on you over here. All my stories will be posted in both places._

_This drabbles follows off of Never Been Kissed, because how awesome was that ep.? The most recent episode was received by the many voices of my muse with a unanimous chorus of _WTF?_, and I haven't really decided what I want to/can do with it yet, so I had to write this instead. Seriously, though, the last ep., 'The Substitute' ... loved parts of it, thought some parts were really well done, and other parts had me cursing characters I love and scratching my head. Only thing I'm sure of about it is that Gwyneth Paltrow's 'Forget You' was epic. And Karofsky's threat to Kurt was bone-shatteringly intense, and I'll definitely _have_ to do something about it when my muse is done processing._

_Anyways, sorry for the rant; hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"Dinner was nice," Brittany says aloud, pulling at a loose thread at the hem of Santana's deep brown bedspread. (It really was; she just doesn't know what was so special about Puck's waffle stories from Juvie … though waffles _are_ pretty awesome in general, so maybe that was it?)

"Mhm," Santana agrees blandly, lying parallel the blonde and skillfully coating her fingernails in a deep purple (her favorite color) nail polish. It would undoubtedly clash with their Cheerios uniforms, so she'll have to take it off come Monday, but it's only Saturday night she plans to enjoy it while she can. "But since when have Puck and Wheels been all buddy-buddy?"

Brittany isn't sure if it's one of those questions that you're not supposed to answer – what are those called, anyways … _rhinoceros_? No, that sounds wrong – but she answers anyways. "Since yesterday," she tells her Latina best friend matter-of-factly. "Puck started pushing Artie around the hallways when he came back from Juvie … I think I overheard him say it was his community solace …"

"Service, B," Santana corrects lightly, blowing on her nails, "community _service_. But I guess it doesn't really matter, anyways …I'm more interested in why they asked us out – besides us being the hottest girls at McKinley, not to mention the top bitches. And I'm 90% sure that the only reason they asked us out to dinner – besides Puck's desire to jump and female with a pulse – is because Wheels totally wants to get you back."

"Get me back where?"

Brittany's absent question is met with a hidden eye roll. "Get back _with_ you," Santana elaborates, and Brittany nods understandingly before scrunching up her eyebrows in confusion.

"But, after I took his virginity Artie was really mad at me … Why would he want to go out with me again if I did something wrong that made him upset?"

"He's a guy," Santana offers as an explanation, "do they even need reasons for what they do? Besides, he probably got over his naïve views on losing his virginity."

Brittany shrugs, because she isn't really sure what naïve means (at all). And because doesn't know the answer to that question, whether or not it's _rhinoceros_.

What she does know? She kind of really hopes Artie _does _want her back … because she thinks she wouldn't mind having him back at all.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	23. Hard To Hate

_A/N: Sorry, again. In my defense, though, I have been writing other things. (Please don't be mad!)_

_This was written because I actually think a Mike and Artie bromance would kind of rock. And because the two of them standing up for Kurt made me squee pathetically. :)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

This isn't the first time that Artie has wished that there was actually something wrong with Mike Chang. Some annoying pet-peeve-ish tendency, maybe, or a frustrating personally trait … Or a glaringly obvious douche bag complex (would that be too much to ask for?); _anything_ that would give him good reason to be pissed off at the guy.

Thing is, though? There isn't anything.

Mike dove head first into standing up for Kurt, didn't back down from Karofsky (who is, quite clearly, a lot bigger and more intimidating that the Asian). He's a kickass dancer (which Artie is totally jealous of; but doesn't qualify as a reason). Not to mention that the guy's clearly head-over-heels in love with Tina. (And that by itself _should_ be justification, Artie thinks; but at the same time it's not. Because it's not like that's something he can _fault_ the guy for, just a painful reminder of the mistakes he himself has made.)

"You make it really hard to hate your guts, you know that?" the wheelchair bound boy informs the current boyfriend of his ex-girlfriend.

They (as in all the Glee guys; Sam included, Kurt not) are playing COD in Puck's basement, and Mike has just sniped a player on the opponents' team who'd had Artie's player in his crosshairs. Mike smiles a little bit, pressing down vigorously on the buttons of his controller, sighing and leaning back when he's eventually annihilated.

"I know," he replies, grinning in a friendly manner. "That's kind of the point."

Artie shakes his head, waiting patiently for Finn to hit reset. "Just … don't be an idiot like me," he says quietly; but not so quietly that they can't hear him. "Tina deserves a whole lot better than that."

"Don't worry, dude; I know."

And yeah, that's kind of what Artie's afraid of. But at the same time, it's good to know that the girl he loves is in good hands … Even if those hands can't be his for the time being.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	24. A Latte

_A/N: Written for the glee _ fluff _ meme over at LJ, and posted as a oneshot at my journal. Thought I'd post it as a drabble here, though, because I keep neglecting *hides in shame*._

_Prompt: Santana/The Girl from the Haverbrook School for the Deaf Choir. __I don't even care what happens in the fic as long as it has this pairing._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

Santana doesn't expect it to happen.

The other girl slips her a small piece of paper after the Haverbrook performance, with the name of a café downtown followed by a question mark. She bites her lip, unsure at first … but when she catches the girl's eye, she can't say no. She nods, with a small smile, and makes sure Brittany can get a ride home from Mike before gesturing discreetly for the other girl to follow.

They talk; well, sort of. Santana tries writing down something at first, but the other girl (she still doesn't know her name) places a hand on her wrist and says in as clear a voice as she can, "It's okay; I can read lips."

Santana just smiles back, blushing slightly. Because – for the first time in a long time – she doesn't have to act like the HBIC of McKinley High; or like an all-around bitch. She can be anyone. More importantly, she can be _herself_. She's actually not too sure how to feel about that; it's actually quite daunting. The thought of being herself, of stripping down (in a different way than she's used to doing) to her innermost levels and having to just hope that she'll be accepted … It doesn't usually matter what people think of her, because they never get to _see_ the real her. But now – now, she isn't so sure.

And then they really do talk. San's careful to enunciate her words without making it too obvious that she's putting in an effort, and after the first couple sentences she gets used to the unfamiliar lilt and tone of Sophie's voice.

It's nice, (Sophie's nice), and they talk about TV shows they both like, and books they've both read, and who their idols are. (Santana has a white chocolate mocha latte – her absolute favorite drink – for the first time since she was recruited to the Cheerios at the beginning of freshman year, and _that_'s nice too. Not caring about how Brittany would look at her for it; or how Coach S would react if she were to find out one of her cheerleaders was actually consuming something beside Sylvester's God-awful protein shakes.)

It's been a long time since she's made a friend so easily (or at all). The only real one she has is Brittany … and as much as San loves the girl, conversations with her have a tendency to get real old, real fast – as interesting and quirky as they always are. Quinn doesn't count, because they both know they'd ditch each other in a heartbeat (which Santana kind of already has; but fuck that, because Quinn totally slept with _her_ boyfriend and is passing off the resulting spawn as Finn's, so whatever) for pettier things.

Time passes quickly, and before they know it they both have to get home. Sophie for dinner, and Santana so that her mom doesn't have a panic attack and call the cops thinking she's been raped and left to die in some abandoned alley. (Her mom has a habit of jumping to the worst conclusions imaginable – even in Lima, Ohio where practically no shit ever goes down.)

She pulls on her pea coat and they're walking out the door – just as white fluffy snowflakes begin to fall down from the sky (stupid early Ohio winters), and how fucking cheesy is _that_ – when Sophie leans in for a chaste kiss. The redhead blushes, looking down, but Santana just gives her a small smile and leans in for a much longer one.

They've exchanged numbers (for texting, obviously), but Santana doesn't know if they'll ever see each other again. She doesn't know if this is going to go anywhere; she's not even sure if she wants it to. But if it does, she'll go along for the ride. And if it doesn't, well … she'll leave it just as it is; as a simple kiss (or three) on this chilly late-November evening in an empty parking lot, and nothing more.

She sends the other girl a wink as Sophie's dad pulls up, heading herself for the bus stop.

She doesn't know exactly how it came about, but she thinks she's really glad that it did.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	25. There Ain't No Cure

_A/N: Sorry, again. Been busy with oneshots ..._

_How was Special Education, eh? I loved it, and all the PR moments made me squee. I had to write this, though, no matter how much I love PR, because I think Rachel's got to be torn up about the Finn thing at the very least._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

Silence …

The most deafening one she's ever heard, to be sure, but it's like all the sound has been sucked out of her world. And she hates it.

If she were in a dramatic type of mood, she'd say that the entire world had been turned on its axis. But she isn't; and she knows that logically it hasn't. It kind of feels like _her world_ has, though; because ever since she looked into his eyes and heard his voice and kissed his lips, he's been her world. A sad fact, maybe – to have so much of her devoted to a boy when she's only sixteen – but it's the truth.

She thinks it's odd that she doesn't know what she's supposed to do without him now, considering the amount her life – and even just the amount of time since she met him – that he wasn't hers. But up until this afternoon he _was_ and, even though she's the _reason_ he's not hers now, she's lost.

She was spiteful, sure. And yeah, she's more upset about the fact that it was _Santana_; but she's angry he lied, too. She really thinks she has a right to be. Maybe it isn't totally his fault that she's so insecure (about everything, including her relationships with people), but his decision to ditch her and 'find his inner rock star' didn't help matters at all. Especially since he ended up on a date with _two cheerleaders_, one of which being Santana herself (and God, why does that girl seem to have it out for her?)

That doesn't matter now, though, does it … Because one shitty decision (she refuses to call it a mistake; she won't do that to Noah, even in her head. An error in judgment for the time, though, it definitely was) and suddenly Finn can do wrong. Sure, it was awful; and with the same guy who happened to impregnate his previous girlfriend and who used to be his best friend? That was beyond cruel. But Finn's made mistakes; he's done stupid things (sleeping with Santana notwithstanding, even), and she's forgiven him for them. Beyond that, she's given him chances. Second chances, and third chances, and fifteenth chances … More chances than probably was intelligent to, considering the number of times he's ripped her heart out of her chest and stomped on it. (Maybe she _is_ in a dramatic mood, after all.)

That doesn't matter now, though, either, does it? Because he _broke up with her_; he doesn't have to listen to her reasoning or change his mind. A persuasive argument on her behalf isn't going to change that, and there isn't much she can do at all.

_That_ – more so than almost anything else in this situation – is hard to come to terms with; being completely helpless.

She's quiet at dinner. Which she's sure sets warning bells a-ringing in her fathers' heads immediately, because there have been very few times in her memory that she has not been more-than-openly vocal about school and glee and her other various lessons. (Of course, there are plenty of things which she keeps quiet about; the way she's treated, the name calling and slushies etcetera, especially. But her dads don't know about any of that to be concerned by her silence on the subject – which is the point.)

Daddy gets up and leaves, and she hears the tap running. She swallows thickly, because he's so very predictable. Dad scoops another serving of his special vegan (made that way just for her, naturally) casserole, because her strict diet self-imposed restrictions and exercise regiment tend to go out the window when she's upset, and he's predictable too.

Daddy comes back in, glass full. A drop of condensation running down the side of it mirrors a stray tear streaming down her cheek, and not even because of Finn (or at least, not exactly); but because it's never failed to make her feel better, before …

But this time, a drink of cold water isn't going to solve any of her problems.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	26. Fitting In Faux Pas

_A/N: Yay! Two in one night! (Well, early morning where I am ... but I haven't gone to bed yet.) Might this be me getting back on track? I don't want to make any false promises, but gosh I hope so!_

_And double _YAY!_ for a Kurt drabble! It's really been too long ..._

_Tag to 'Special Education', BTW._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

It's a hard lesson to learn.

_Don't try so hard._

He has definitely never heard _that_ before, to say the least. At McKinley, and in Lima, it's as if no matter how hard he tried (whether his entire heart and soul went into it and he gave it no less than his absolute very all), it was never good enough. It's been like that for most his life, in most of his endeavors. So to be told to _not try so hard_ isn't exactly easy to come to terms with.

Maybe it's actually supposed to be a relief: to not have to _worry_ about trying so hard. To just _be_ … It's an interesting thought, he supposes; perhaps.

But it doesn't end there.

When he transferred to Dalton, he expected something … different. Maybe the uniforms _should_ have been a dead giveaway; it seemed fairly straightforward when Blaine brought it up to prove his point. He's just never blended in before. (And that's the understatement of the century.) Even when he tried – lest he bring up the _Pink Houses_ incident, make-out with Brittany and all – he was miserable at it. So he did the opposite. He did his very best to stand out; and maybe it got him dumpster tosses and slushies to the face, and open ridicule, and a whole lot of a certain kind of unwanted attention (cough, Karofsky, cough), but it is who he is.

He'd expected that at Dalton, where a zero-tolerance for bullying was in effect and tolerance for homosexuality just seemed to exist, he wouldn't have to worry. That he'd be accepted just the way he is, and even embraced for having the strength to stand out instead of penalized for it. But even _here_ it's a bad thing. Not in the same way, exactly … but the mentality is similar enough to leave a far-too-familiar bad taste in his mouth.

Even if he had ever wanted to before (which maybe he _does _now, just a little, for the sake of it; and for a couple other reasons, but perhaps not great ones), he's not sure he'll be any _good_ at 'fitting in'.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	27. His Drug

_A/N: So I think this is kind of terrible ... But it's late and it's been forever, and I wanted to get something out. Plus my muse keeps giving me Finchel angst to deal with, even though I don't ship them. (Apparently I can write them when they're having relationship trouble, I just can't write them happy.)_

_So many assignments, and so little time, and so little writing inspiration, but lots soon to come with the Christmas break approaching!_

_Hope you enjoy this!_

_-0-0-_

Finn didn't know it was possible to be addicted to a person.

Really, he thought that was just for, like … pot and coke and alcohol, and stuff. The stuff adults try their best to steer kids away from in health class starting in grade three and until you graduate. He thought you could only get addicted to bad stuff like that; and he wasn't, at all. He didn't do that shit, because he's seen the after pictures of meth addicts and potheads; besides, his mom would be super disappointed in him (and he hates disappointing his mom).

But it's been four days since he last saw Rachel and a good week since he actually spoke to her; and he is acutely aware of exactly how long it's been. He's aware, and it hurts. There's this pain in his chest that's from more than just knowing that she made out with Puck, and has nothing to do with the fact that they are now broken up (well, not _much_, at least). He's pretty sure he's in Rachel withdrawal, and it's scaring the crap out of him.

Because she totally isn't like, a drug; because she's a person, and people can't be drugs, he knows. So how is it that he's addicted to her? How can he be craving her presence and her crazy rants and the way her tiny frame fits in his arms, the way she'll smile up at him when she's proud of him, and her voice? God, her voice … what he wouldn't give to just be able to hear her right now. More so than seeing her or feeling her, he needs to hear her; hear her talking and saying that everything will be alright, or her voice singing to him (or to anyone, really, just so long as he can hear it).

He doesn't think this is healthy. The way he needs her so badly.

He should be working on getting over her, right? She betrayed him, he broke things off, and it's over between them. He shouldn't be this caught up. Not even if she had been the one to end things, this level attachment shouldn't still exist.

But it does; and he's addicted.

He can preach that they're over all he wants – he can yell it forever and ever, can advertise it, and try to convince the world of the fact – but it doesn't change a thing.

Rachel Berry is his drug, apparently; and he needs her.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	28. Misguided

_A/N: Really short one, guys, sorry. This one is set before _A Very Glee Christmas_. I'm not trying to justify Blaine's behavior, just trying to justify what he might be thinking/ Sorry if it's terrible. Hope you enjoy anyways!_

_-0-0-_

He's not trying to make this any harder on Kurt than it already is.

He knows how much trouble the other boy must be having, trying to adjust; (trying to accept the way that Dalton is run, how the Warblers are run ... trying to come to terms with the whole idea of _fitting in_.) He's not trying to abandon Kurt; not when he's practically the only person he knows at a new school.

He just thinks that it's better this way, maybe … with a little space between them.

Not that he doesn't like Kurt (because he does, maybe a little _too much_; he thinks he's amazing), but it's just that … He's not _infallible_, okay? He's not some kind of hero-mentor, not the way Kurt seems to think he is. He's only human, and in his own opinion he's not the greatest one at all. He makes mistakes; he gives shitty advice (that most recently ended up with Kurt's first kiss being stolen by his closeted, number one tormentor).

He just doesn't want to hurt Kurt more than he already has.

And if that means distancing himself and making it clear that the boundaries are _just friends_ (as much as really, really doesn't want to), he will; because he'll always put Kurt first.

(He just doesn't know how misguided he is in doing so this time around.)

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	29. Don't Leave Just Yet

_A/N: Pretty long one, in celebration of the beginning of my vacation. (From school; not like a trip.) Happy Holidays, everyone!_

_St. Berry, set sometime after _Funk_, just because there's so much raw potential there._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

It's rather odd, she muses to herself, that despite her aptitude and love for performing, she adores the auditorium most at times such as this … in silence. It's at its most peaceful, with all the lights turned off (in complete darkness but for the soft glow entering from the open doorway), the stage empty and the air still.

It's not _dead_ exactly … In fact she thinks this is when it's most alive. Buzzing not with frantic people, but with a possibility; the luscious belief that amazing things can happen here if put in the right hands. Arms wide open and welcoming, with no judgments yet passed. A quiet promise of something great to come; full to the brim with not-yet-forgotten memories; wizened with age, boasting experience and expertise. But, most importantly, void of presence (excepting only her own, of course).

Or, so she thought. But as she sits reverently in the back row of seats, gazing down at the stage she's frequented for numerous performances since the beginning of her freshman year, she notices the slow, steady breath of another; a kind of controlled and healthy breath that can come from only one person. (Not to mention the shadow of the figure that she knows all too well.)

"How did you know to look for me here?" she asks him, not taking her eyes off the darkness before her, skimming past the more obvious question: _Why did you come looking for me at all?_

"Oftentimes I've felt as though the auditorium at Carmel was the only place I could go to get any peace at all. I assumed – correctly, apparently – that you'd feel likewise for the one here at McKinley," Jesse replies, taking a step forward from his position in the doorway.

"Shouldn't you be out with the rest of Vocal Adrenaline, celebrating your return?" Her words are bitter; as – justifiably – is she.

"Some things are more important." _You're more important._

Silence hangs in the air around them once again, broken by naught but their breathing. She still doesn't look at him, and he doesn't dare move any closer without permission. Not after what occurred just this afternoon.

"Why?"

Even she's not exactly sure what she means. Why is he here? Why is this more important? Why did he play with her heart? Why did he egg her? Why did he make her fall in love with him?

He doesn't have an answer for her; or at least not a very good one, in his opinion. The only thing that comes to mind is _because I love you_, but he just knows that that has no chance in hell of going over well with her. Not after everything. So he sighs as his eyes fall closed, speaking a half-truth that barely feels like a lie.

"I don't know."

That's not good enough, either. It's almost more painful that if he'd come out and told her that he'd done it all because he didn't care a thing, because she didn't matter, because Shelby told him to and he didn't see why not. His indifference she could accept, however heartbreaking it may be. His uncertainty and that promise of hope in his voice – so like this auditorium she's always found solace in – are like bullets straight to the heart; a string of painful reminders that there was something there between them, something_ real_ … before he went and ruined it.

She wants a lot of things, in that moment. She wants to go back in time to before she met him; she wants to go back in time to right _when_ she met him, and stay in that blissful moment forever and ever. She wants to scoff at him and walk away … (but that would take so much more strength than she can find within herself right now). She wants to turn to him and kiss him, and forget everything that ever went wrong. She wants him to apologize.

She wants him to tell her that he loves her … even though she isn't sure she'd believe him if he did.

He doesn't do any of those things, though. He just gently brushes his hand over where hers is clenching the arm of her seat, starting to pull away and stand up. She stops him, though, by twining her fingers through his own.

"Don't leave," she murmurs, before turning her head away from him, embarrassed.

He nods, squeezing her hand gently and sitting back down.

She knows he can't stay forever. And she doesn't even know what she's trying to accomplish here. Their timing from the start hasn't been in their favor; like everything in the world is working against them.

But right now, she knows she can't stand to see him walk away from her again.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	30. The L Word In The Hallway

_A/N: This one's a lot shorter than the last couple, but this is all I could seem to get out for it. Sometimes I can lengthen them, but this one I wanted to leave just the way it is. This one is all Quick, dedicated to _bethie88_ over on LJ (Pen Name _Beth Smith_ here__) because she's awesome! :)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

He says I love you with conviction, because in this moment he does.

She's a hot mess (emphasis on both _hot_ and _mess_), because she kind of just gave birth to their daughter and all, and she looks exhausted (and rightfully so), but he doesn't think she's ever looked more beautiful. Just standing there, in a pale pink robe and fuzzy slippers, in a hospital hallway, standing outside the room a baby girl – _their_ baby girl – is occupying, Megan Fox could pass by in a thong right now and he'd probably still only have eyes for this girl.

(He knows he's fucked, because that shit is intense, but he also kind of doesn't care.)

She needs stability right now, and he knows it. He can't promise that. He's still just a dude, and maybe she deserves so much more than he can give. But he's also kind of a selfish asshole, when it comes down to it, and there's no well in hell he's just going to let her go.

So he tells her he loves her (it's not like it's a lie), and makes a silent vow to do whatever he can to never hurt her.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	31. Trustworthy

_A/N: Don't know where this came from ... and it's short again, sorry._

_Just popped into my head when I was writing a oneshot (that I will hopefull have up tomorrow; just look at the writing roll I'm on, guys, haha), and decided it had to be written immediately._

_Extra Note: If anyone reading this is in a polyamorous or open relationship, this is not meant to offend. I was merely attempting to get an insight into Mike's head and represent how he might feel._

_Oh, and this is about Tina and Mike. (Didn't actual write their names into it, oops.)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

He can't believe that she thought he would cheat on her.

They've been dating each other for months now. They didn't know each other that well before they hooked up at Asian Camp, but hasn't his been long enough for her to know that he would _never, ever_ do that? His parents raised him right, you know? And maybe a lot of the people at this school are known for screwing up relationships and being all-around assholes, but he isn't that guy.

He's never going to cheat on his girlfriend, with anyone, for any reason; ever.

She's probably apologized about fifty times by now, but he's still having a hard time with it. Because when push came to shove, she didn't believe in him. How can their relationship possibly survive if she doesn't even have the most basic trust in him; the trust that he'll be faithful to her? (In his opinion, that's basically in the unwritten 'terms and conditions' of being in an actual relationship. Puck and Santana's mutually open fling doesn't qualify as one as far as he's concerned.)

He just … wants her to trust him; because he's trustworthy, damn it. Even if a lot of the guys who've been in her life before haven't been doesn't mean he's going to follow the same pattern.

Why can't she see that?

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	32. Part Of Your World

_A/N: Sorry, _Imma-Gleek . x_, no Quick today. This one's Quinn-centric, with some Squinn undertones. But I tried to keep it light, haha._

_I had trouble with my muse all day until this one came to mind about a half hour ago and refused to be let alone._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

Sam invites her over to have dinner with his family Christmas Eve, and she couldn't be more relieved.

She's pretty sure that if she has to spend another second playing perfect-happy-family with her mother in the big empty house, she's going to snap.

Because things aren't the same as they were last year. She can't go to midnight mass at her church and not have to endure judging whispers and condemning glares. She can't bow her head and pray without a voice in the back of her head whispering that for all she knows she's praying to nothing; or to a higher power that doesn't give a rat's ass about her anymore, anyway, because of last year's mistake.

She can't pass by the carefully laid out nativity scene in their foyer without a burning shame filling her gut. She can't sit down to dinner with her mother and pretend that there isn't a glaring hole in what used to be their living incarnate of the American Dream, right there at the head of the table where her father used to sit. She can't stand in the living room, with its posh furniture and cold atmosphere without remembering the warm den at Mercedes' house, with its shabby-but-adorable couches, Mrs. Jones sitting by her side at night and wrapping a caring arm around her shoulders. She can't pass by the study and not remember her father telling her to get out of his house; and not remember the very moment that finally broke their family beyond repair.

Her mother's been trying, she knows, to be better at … well, being a mom. And she knows that there are memories from when she was small, ones in which her mother was a caring person, full of laughter, ready with a tender hug and helping hand when one was needed. But somewhere along the line that sense of love and togetherness was lost; the kind she didn't even realize had been missing until she stood with Puck in the hospital, listening to him tell her that he loved her, remembering him telling her that they _could be a family_, and felt it slipping through her fingers.

She wants to return the favor and invite Sam over for Christmas, but even before the words catch in her throat she knows she can't. She can't mix both sides of her world; he just wouldn't fit in the other one. And she means that in the best way possible. She's _glad_ he doesn't fit. Because she doesn't even fit anymore, not after everything, and what she needs the most right now is to get away from all the uncertainty that is her past life. She needs something _here_ and _now_; something she knows will stick by her even if the other one slips away (again).

She needs the stability she feels every time she's in his embrace; she needs to feel like there's a chance that somehow, some way, she could possibly have a _home_ instead of the dreadful house she's living in.

She needs his world; and she never wants him to be a part of her own.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	33. All I Want For Christmas

_A/N: Sorry this wasn't up yesterday :(. I feel asleep, unfortunately._

_Written because, as insane as it kind of was, the Artie/Brittany storyline in _A Very Glee Christmas_ pulled at my heart strings repeatedly._

_Unrelated: I'll be rather busy tomorrow, it being Christmas Eve and all. And then the day after as well, it being Christmas. And thanks to more family than I can count - I'm truly grateful for each and every one of them, don't get me wrong - I'm even booked Boxing day, as well. So in case this is the last chance I get to post until after, I'd just like to say: HAPPY HOLIDAYS, every one. (That's the politically/socially correct thing to say now, right? 'Happy Holidays'? I hope so ...)_

_Now, on to it. Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

This might just be the most frantic Artie's ever been at Christmas time.

He's watched his mom go crazy other years trying to make everything perfect. He's always been more mellowed out, though; a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. (He wasn't before the accident, but he'd quickly learned after that that it's easier to be able to adapt to whatever situation you're in … because almost nothing ever goes as planned.)

This year, though, Brittany whispers to him that he has to get his letter sent to the North Pole ASAP and – after immediate disbelief – he quickly determines that no matter what it takes, he's going to make sure that no one leaves any doubts in Brittany's head about the reality of Old Saint Nick. And what could go wrong, right? The club just has to go see 'Santa' at the mall, get Brittany whatever she asks Santa for, and _boom_: instant happy-Brittany for the holidays. It's supposed to be easy; (and why shouldn't it be?).

Only … not so much – because it turns out Brittany has, without a doubt, the largest heart of anyone he's ever known. And instead of asking for Lil' Wayne's new CD, she asks Santa for something so selfless; and so _impossible_. She wants Santa to give him back the ability to walk. And as freaking amazing as it is of her to wish for something like that, for him …

It makes all his simple plans go straight down the toilet. She had to ask for the thing that nothing short of legitimate magic could ever guarantee, and that's exactly what she's expecting; Santa's magic.

But Santa _isn't_ real, and if it hadn't been for some unknown-mystery-person with almost as large a heart as the girl herself, this would have ruined Brittany's belief once and for all. (Which, sure, will have to happen sometime; but he _really_ doesn't want to be the one responsible for that. It'd be like stealing a bone from a puppy, and then kicking the poor thing to add injury to insult.)

Sure, maybe it worked out. And he got to kind-of walk for the first time in almost nine years (which was totally awesome, he's so grateful to the person who came up with the technology for that; he hadn't known it existed yet, and even if he did there's no way he'd ever be able to afford it). So all's well that ends well, right?

Still, he can't help but feel like things would have been _so_ much easier if Brittany's parents had given her the talk, eight years ago or so, like the other parents of kids their age. He can't blame them _too_ much, though … (the whole bone-puppy-kicking thin must have been in affect even back then, after all; maybe even _more_ so when B was a child).

At this point, he doesn't even want to think about what's going to happen next Christmas.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	34. Power

_A/N: I think I remember someone asking for some more Santana some time ago ... and this sort of came to me. Spoilers I guess for _TPOM_, in the fact that Finn did the nasty with Santana. *gasp*_

_And sidenote to _gleek06216_; the Berryford has not been forgotten, and **will** be coming up! :)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

She's a bitch.

It's the truth. She has been every since she stole that Asian Stutter Chick's purple crayon in Pre-K and realized that the easiest way to gain power and control in life is to instill fear in others. Once she does, she can do/get away with anything she wants. No one's going to stand in the way of her if she shows them that she's the one in control.

Every since then, it's all been about the power. Sure, she played second fiddle to Little Miss Perfect Quinn Fabray, with the long blonde hair and that equal parts mysterious, cruel, and sweet smile of hers for a while, but Quinnie took just one step out of line – to be fair it _was_ a pretty big step – and there was no more coming in second for one Santana Lopez.

Power means even more in high school than it ever has before – and probably ever will again – and as the head cheerleader _and_ head bitch in charge, she had it all: no longer just _a_ bitch, but Queen Bitch. All the power she could ever need, in the palm of her hand.

-0-0-

Sleeping with Finn was _whatever_.

It was his first time, so it's not like he was even that good (and it's not like it lasted very long, either). But Coach would have had a cow if she didn't accomplish the weird Madonna assignment, and then there's that whole thing about _power_ again. Taking his virginity meant that he's always going to be in the palm of her hand, whether he wants to be or not. Doesn't mean he's ever going to love her, but that's not what she wants anyway. She doesn't need everyone – or anyone, really – to love her; she needs them to fear her, or respect her.

And maybe this isn't the right kind of respect, but it's a kind of respect all the same (and she isn't going to be picky about it).

He was just another notch on her bedpost, and she gets the satisfaction of being the first notch on his. It's a win for her. Sort of a lose for him, because he was _saving himself_ or some shit for Rachel fucking Berry, but definitely a win, too, because _hello_; he got to sleep with _her_.

Back to Rachel Berry, though; she's a loser, but she's always been a strong one. Even beneath the uncaring façade she so obviously slips on in the face of ridicule and cruelty, there's a sense true determination and strength lingering to her core. Kind of impressive considering the number of slushies she's taken to the face (a fair number by Santana's own hands).

But _this_ … this could just break her down the way she's been trying to do since kindergarten. Her, her stupid loud voice, and tacky gold star stickers, convinced she's better than everyone else in that cow town, and acting as if any of it is going to make a difference and be her ticket out of this hell hole. (_Yeah, right._) Her with her big fucking moon eyes for Finn Hudson.

It's not like she's just trying to make Stubbles' life as miserable as possible. Actually, she totally kind of is … but it's not like she doesn't have _another_ reason to go to all the trouble, too.

The strength thing RuPaul has going on is totally bad for the herd dynamic. Santana can't exactly have people thinking that it's okay to stop following the crowd like sheep and thinking they can be _themselves_, now can she? There's a hierarchy and a way of doing things that must be followed that exists to some degree at every high school, but especially at McKinley. If she can break Man Hands, she won't have to worry about anyone jumping ranks anymore than they already have.

If everyone stays in the nice little formation she's slowly and painstakingly helped to keep in place, her power doesn't have to go away.

She never has to give up control.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	35. Big Deal

_A/N: Not sure where this came from. Kind of dark; thoughts behind the beginnings of an eating disorder. Rachel's POV. I'm a little afraid it might be terrible, though ... I've never tried anything quite like this before. Only a Mercedes drabble following the events of '_Home_', but how could I pass that up? Haven't done her in a while ... maybe I should get on that, haha._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

_It's not a big deal_, she tells herself.

And it's _not_.

So what if she skips breakfast? It's just one less banana and protein shake each day. Add in a measly fifteen minutes more of exercise on the elliptical, too. She feels really bloated lately, and when she looks in a mirror all she sees are her thighs … she just wants to be a little thinner, alright? And it's not like she's eating any less than anyone on the Cheerios squad does on a regular basis. And her self-imposed exercise regime isn't nearly as intense as their daily practices are. So it's not like she's doing anything dangerous; after all, they're all fine, right? Besides, everyone who's anyone in Hollywood has done it at least once. And if she's going to make it big, she's going to need to look the part to sell her entire package.

And right now, her body is obviously less than perfect. Not even mentioning her large nose or incredibly undesirable brown locks, it's possible in a single glance to see that she has a ways to go before she's slim enough to have a chance. It's not like she has height or a large bosom to blame any extra weight on, so the number she sees on the scale is very clearly unsatisfactory. If it were, the girls at school wouldn't call her 'RuPaul' or 'Stubbles', now, would they? There must be a reason …

Maybe she'll skip lunch today, too. Just one vegan salad less than usual.

Totally not a big deal, either … right? (Because it's just more empty calories that would be going straight to her hips if she bothered to consume them; eating's overrated, anyways.)

If it gets her that last inch closer to stardom in the end, it's more than worth it.

She smiles to herself in her mirror, because this is something she can control. She can control what goes into her body and in doing so she can control what her body will look like. She still needs work, though … The smile falls from her lips. Just look at those ankles, really. She thinks she'll wear pants tomorrow, take the advice Kurt always gives her when addressing her skirt collection; just until she's more presentable and visually appealing, obviously.

(Maybe she'll skip lunch, too. A faster means to the end result she desires.)

But it still isn't a big deal. Really, it's _not_.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	36. Worth It

_A/N: I've been sucked in my the undeniable cuteness and amazing-ness that is Mike and Tina. Just warning you._

_Sorry for the delay. And sorry that it's so late and I'm so exhausted that I have absolutely nothing to say about this other than: hope you enjoy! (Or, _you're welcome_, if you never care about what I say anyway, haha._

_Set after _Duets_, so spoilers for that. Enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

At Asian Camp, things between them were just … easy.

Tina was kind of on the rebound, after all; and he was a safe bet, in a weird way. She knew that they could have some fun while they were there, but that if she wanted it to, it could stay as just that and nothing more. _What happens at Asian Camp stays at Asian Camp,_ or something along those lines. There was no pressure. Mike's hot, and he was there, and she didn't want to feel alone.

When they got back, though, she didn't want to leave it – leave _them_ – behind. She wanted to hold his hand in public, and kiss him for no reason other than _just because_, and hang out with him, and have him be hers. So she did. And in theory, that's pretty easy too: taking things to the next step, being official, getting to know each other beyond the day-to-day teaching arts and night-to-night sneaking away to make out that they started out as. Nice and simple; more so than anything else in her life ever has been.

But then things started getting harder.

It was still fun, and good, but there was pressure. He started bringing her to the family dinners at dim sum, with their chicken-feet-salad, and all of a sudden it wasn't just the two of them in a bubble anymore. There were parents involved; parents to impress and win over. There were unspoken goals and standards to meet, and behaviors she felt like she had to have. And she just could _not_ tell what his mom thought of her … if she approved, or if she strongly disapproved to the point where there relationship was unacceptable. So she tried harder.

But she just couldn't deal with it anymore. So she gave Mike some lame excuse about the chicken feet (which weren't actually so bad), because it was an easy out. And she expected that to be it. He didn't accept that, though; he didn't leave it at that and walk away like she expected him to (like anyone else in her life would have). No.

He apologized and tried to fix it, looking at her anxiously and smiling that endearing smile of his that she has trouble not automatically returning. He didn't give up.

And that was when she realized it … that she was falling for him.

That she wanted this to work, _so_ badly (and way more than she had imagined she could); no matter what it took.

Dinners at dim sum with his mom were worth it after that; chicken feet and all. It didn't get easier … not really. But she had a better reason to keep trying than she did before. And that was – that _is_ – more than enough.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	37. Dream On

_A/N: Happy New Year, everyone!_

_This is a sort of combination drabble; there are three, all branching off of the episode _Dream On_. I think I might do this for some other episodes, too, now that I have the first season and am re-watching them. I hope you enjoy!_

_[And - _shameless plug_ - I just posted the 7th installment of my Character Pieces series, _Tina ..._ so if you wanted to go check that out, it would mean a lot to me!]_

_Thanks so much for the support, always; it's seriously appreciated :). It's the kind readers who make writing so worthwhile!_

_Back to the drabbles: enjoy!_

* * *

**_Set after episode 19 of season 1, _Dream On_._**

_I think I kind of like her. I don't want her to get hurt. –Jesse (to Shelby)_

If only it were that easy, he thinks to himself, as he presses _talk_ on his cell phone, waiting for Rachel to pick up and then telling her to meet him in the parking lot.

She will; there's no doubt.

Because even after everything – most specifically, his recent defection back to Vocal Adrenaline – she trusts him; she _loves_ him. And he thinks maybe, just _maybe_, he loves her back. Or that he could, at least. But they're more like the famed star-crossed lovers _Romeo_ and _Juliet_ than either of them ever imagined, and timing has never been on their side.

He has to do this. He has to get back to being a part of VA, for his scholarship and his future; and he needs to participate in this awful incident to prove to his teammates that his loyalties lie with them (although his loyalties have never actually lain further away than they do at the moment). He _has_ to do this … and he can only hope that in time, Rachel can understand that to a certain extent.

They are rather alike, after all. Both performers to the core, both dedicated to their loosely-called 'dreams' (that are really more inevitabilities; for them both).

She's more vulnerable, though, he knows. (She lacks his naturally hard outer shell, though she does try to project one when walking the halls of McKinley – as a simple means of survival.)

Knowing that, the act takes a lot more restraint on his part than he'd foreseen. (It's just _so hard_ to actually _do_ it instead of gathering her up in arms and whispering _I'm so sorry_, over and over again.)

He manages, though. But afterwards he wishes that he hadn't.

_I have to focus on dreams I can make come true. I'm good, Tina … really. –Artie (to Tina)_

So maybe he's not so good.

Watching Mike and Tina dance is torture, really. Each step they take a reminder that he'll be stuck in this chair forever; each _tap_ of their shoes as they dance another reason he should just withdraw into himself completely and try to forget the world.

But he's not the kind to give up; especially not on life.

Not when he sees that look of guilt flash across his moms face every time she looks at him, knowing that she still carries that survivor's guilt around with her; not when he can draw on every ounce of strength within him to prove to her (to his mom) that he isn't doomed to just manage or survive – he can _live_.

So he does, no matter how easy giving up would be.

He thinks easy is over-rated, anyway. Nothing worthwhile ever really is.

_You think you're helping these kids, when all you're doing is setting them up to be jaded and bitter. –Bryan Ryan (to Will)_

No matter what Bryan Ryan thinks he's doing, Will _knows_ that he's doing so much more than that.

He's showing them that they have the right to shine, no matter what the world will tell them when they're older. Even if they don't make it out of Lima – and a lot of them won't, even though they deserve it. Because the arts matter and they are all so talented; he's so proud of each and every one of them.

If anything, he tells himself, this is preventing them from becoming jaded and bitter. Maybe it's not a sure bet, _because just look what happened to Bryan, after all_, but they're bound to have a better outlook on life this way, right?

Surely this is better – if they have this creative outlet … if they have a couple hours a week when it doesn't matter what the rest of the school thinks of them, because they have teammates who respect them on some level … if he gives them the safe environment in the choir room they'll never get anywhere else in the school – than them wandering the halls of this school alone, defeated, and constantly put down for the next couple years of their life just because they have the strength to be who they are.

He's doing some good; he _knows_ it.

* * *

_Please review!_


	38. Just A 'Hey'

_A/N: In lieu of forgoing any more unpleasant reviews about my accidental bashing Finn and Rachel's relationship, this is _not meant to offend anyone_. It's simply something that came to me and write itself. (While I'm at it: I do not own Glee in any way shape or form (except for their albums and their complete first season, because they rock). I don't know what my muse was thinking, but I like the way it turned out._

_This kind of follows off of what's happened between them on the show, but it doesn't actually mention what went down between them. Set some months in the future._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

"Hey," he says, trademark twisted smile appearing below a blissfully ignorant expression, greeting her like he would a year ago, before break-ups and hook-ups and more break-ups and an _I love you_ and another break-up that felt more like a final _goodbye_ than anything she's ever experienced; like he doesn't hate her, but he doesn't love her either; like everything's the way it was before; like everything's okay.

She greets him back with a curt 'Hello' – because she'll be darned if she chooses now to fall from her pattern of only speaking in proper English and refusing to use even the commonest of slang – attempting her own smile despite the aching pain deep within. It's feels funny on her face; like she's a fraud. (But it's not the first time she's felt that way lately, so she pushes it to the back of her mind and pretends like the foot of space between them doesn't still kill her inside; like it never has.)

She tries to forget that he hasn't spoken to her in months; that she doesn't get to miss him anymore, and maybe she never really did. (Not that it could stop her from doing so.) But she's bitter, and she's lonely, and she doesn't want whatever pseudo-friendship his renewed presence in his life is seemingly offering. That isn't _good_ enough; not anymore.

Maybe it would have been, a month ago. When she was pining, and moping, and convinced that in time they'd find their way back to each other because their love was _meant to be_. (Yeah, right.)

But now she's broken, and she doesn't know what she's supposed to do … but she's pretty sure that she deserves more than that – than _this_. (Despite what anyone else at this school would have you believe; _she_ knows that she's worth more.) Because maybe every boy she's ever fallen for and trusted has turned around, laughed in her face, and walked away, but it isn't always going to be like that; it's _not_.

And she'll be damned if she lets Finn pull her back down again.

She loves him – still, and despite her better judgment – but she thinks that even he isn't worth this kind of pain.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	39. Stargazer

_A/N: Warning - A sample of Rachel Berry's crazy lies within; as well as a dramatic over-use of italicization. (I was trying to really channel her character for this one, haha.)_

_Is the 'Traffic' page down for anybody else? Or is it just me?_

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0- _

There really is _nothing to do_ in Lima, Ohio at one in the morning.

(She should really be in bed, because she has school tomorrow and she can't function properly in her classes without her usual amount of sleep, and if she can't concentrate in class she can't keep up her perfect GPA, and if she can't keep up her perfect GPA she's never going to get out of this hell-hole they call a town, and if she can't get out of this town she's going to be _stuck here for the rest of her life_, and if she's stuck here for the rest of her life she's going to end up working at a mini-mart and marrying some loser who can barely spell his own name, who's genes will no doubt counteract her own and leave their children with a mere _average_ existence. And there's no way she can ever let that happen.

A voice in the back of her head assures her, though, that she's just being overly dramatic – as usual – and that one late night and a single school day with a less-than-perfect academic performance isn't going to result in her being rejected by Julliard and having mediocre children. Her children will be brightly shining stars, no doubt.)

But when her dads are away on vacation, or a business trip, or just gallivanting wherever it is in the world that they always seem to disappear to, she'll get the urge to just drive as far as she cares to and sit on the hood of her car, looking up at the stars. It makes her feel better – not quite back to normal, but _better_ – and it's a good reminder that there's so much more to this world than what Lima, Ohio has to offer.

She finds herself forgetting that more and more often, lately. That it's actually _inevitable_ that she's going to be on Broadway, and she needn't worry about it because her fate has already been written amongst the very stars she will one day manage to outshine by her accomplishments alone.

It's hard to remember when the boy who made sure she knew it is gone now; the boy with the slicked back brunette waves, and soulful eyes, and honey-sweet voice. (The beautiful traitor she may just always love.)

_Easy for him to say_, she thinks bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself as shelter from the wind. _He already had his ticket out; a free ride to Los Angeles waiting for him._

But she tries not to think too much about that. Because in a year's time, that _will_ be her, with a list of universities just begging her to choose their institution over the others; she _will_ have a full-ride to Julliard; and she _will_ escape this place that has been her prison since birth.

Because there's nothing to do in Lima, Ohio, whether it's one in the morning or two in the afternoon; and she's _destined_ to do great things.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	40. Crazy

_A/N: I don't know how I feel about this one. I read it over a couple times and for the most part I like it, but I don't think I got it to flow _quite_ the way I wanted it to. But I was asked for Sam/Quinn, and I delivered, so I hope you all enjoy it!_

_-0-0-_

She thinks that maybe, just maybe she loves him.

Only she _must_ be crazy because she's just barely seventeen now, and she's already been burned by 'love' – when she cheated on her perfect boyfriend with the town delinquent and had a baby – which means there's no possible way she was stupid enough to fall in love with a boy with a too-perfect-smile who she's barely known for a couple of months. So she's obviously crazy, because she's not an idiot.

Thing is, though … she doesn't feel crazy _or_ like an idiot when she's with him. When his arms are around her or his laugh rings in her ears like the third-best sound she's ever heard (first is Beth's cries, which can never be replaced in her memory by anything more amazing); or when he's sitting across the table, gently nudging her feet under it and smiling that crooked smile of his she loves so much; or when he's strumming his guitar with his eyes close and she lets the sound of his voice just wash over her (the second-best sound she's ever heard).

It scares her; that she could be falling this hard again. More than that, it _terrifies_ her. An almost completely debilitating terror, that consumes her and makes it hard to breathe, because she can't deal with another love disaster; not so soon after the last one, when its pain is still fresher on her mind that she thinks it has any right to be by now.

But she thinks that maybe, just maybe … it could all be okay.

Because he smiles that smile, and laughs that laugh, and looks at her with those eyes … and when he does, she thinks she can read _love_ in them, shining right back at her; because he's just as foolish and crazy and she must be.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	41. Won't Let You Go

_A/N: This has been sitting on my desktop, more or less complete, for a couple of days now ... but I just couldn't seem to figure out what to do to it to make it actually _finished_. And I'm still not sure how it turned out ... but I hope you enjoy!_

_Written for _**gleek06216**_, because Berryford is awesome, and so is she! Thanks for reviewing so diligently, bb, it means so much!_

_-0-0-_

She's never regretted her ambition or her dream.

It hasn't gotten her very far in the way of personal relationships with her peers, but she knows that one day it's going to be the reason she gets out of this place. The reason Julliard welcomes her into its ranks; the reason Broadway will be grateful to her for gracing its stages and sharing her talent with the rest of the world; the reason girls her age will know her name and long to grow up to be just like her; the reason she leaves this town – and all its inhabitants – behind in her wake.

That isn't to say she doesn't have moments of doubt, however. When she can't help but think _what if_; what if she'd been different, what if others had accepted her, what if she'd tried harder to fit in …

It doesn't do any good, she knows, to think back on the past and wonder what could have been, if things had been different; because she can't change the past. She can't change the way she's acted, can't change the way people have treated her. Can't make friendships appear out of thin air. It can never do any good.

Sometimes, though, she lets go. Because, really, being so serious and mature all the time can be awfully tiring.

So sometimes, late at night, she'll sneak out and go to the park. And dance, and sing … and be a kid again.

It's a release; to not have to worry about anything. Not about grades and classes, or glee, or whether she's going to have a slushie thrown in her face tomorrow. About whether she's going to get the part in the community production she auditioned for or if she's going to be shunted into the chorus ensemble; about relationships and drama and always coming in second.

No one's ever around to laugh at her, or point and whisper.

It's a different kind of alone than the one she's used to; a comfortable one, instead of feeling like she's the only person in a crowd who doesn't have somebody else. It's a refreshing solitude, with no expectations to fulfill but her the ones she sets for herself.

She doesn't expect to have an audience one night.

But there she is, finishing an inspired – if she may say so herself – rendition of 'Out Tonight' from _Rent_ …

[Not her usual style, she must say. Sure, it's Broadway, but not the Barbra classics she's used to belting out in glee club. It's the kind of thing she'd sing in her room, at the top of her lungs (but still in a healthy manner, of course), before the neighbors started the lawsuit. (She hasn't been free to sing to the best of her abilities at home in months; she's still trying to convince Dad and Daddy to get her room soundproofed.)]

… when she hears someone start clapping from a few feet away. She raises her head quickly, surprised, taking on a look reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights.

And standing there, with a small smile on his face as he continues to clap, is Matt.

She blushes almost immediately, looking down before looking back up sheepishly.

"There's not usually anyone out this late," she murmurs.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting to run into anyone," he says back, "let alone get treated to a free performance by _the_ Rachel Berry."

She laughs a little at that, blushing harder for a moment before biting down on her lip and charging at him.

Her arms are around him in an instant, and now it's his turn to laugh; though his is admittedly more humored and less embarrassed.

"I missed you," she whispers fiercely in his ear, and her voice starts to choke up. Because he's back for now, but she just _knows_ that she doesn't get to keep him. (Still a visit is better than nothing, right?) It's not fair; that one of the only people besides her dads who has ever accepted her and believed in her had to up and leave. She can't count the number of times she's longed for his comforting embrace these past few months.

"I missed you too," he murmurs, his chuckle falling away and leaving silence behind.

It's late, and he's tired – and he thinks she must be, too – because of the jetlag he's experiencing, but none of that matters.

They stay like that for a long time, just holding each other; because neither is quite ready to let go.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	42. Not Anymore

_A/N: Sorry, guys, been sick since Wednesday. :( Still not really feeling up to speed, but I can look at a computer without having a dizzy spell now, which is an improvement._

_This is for gleek06216, who wanted some Cherry (to follow up the Berryford, of course, haha). No interaction between the two of them, unfortunately; and no real romantic feelings yet ... but I hope you enjoy it!_

_-0-0-_

He hates this.

He's so sick of walking past that constantly reoccurring puddle of slushie … right in front of where he knows her locker is, knowing that she's cooped up in a bathroom somewhere, crying as she tries in vain to clean herself off as best as she can from a tap before she's ever later for her next period class.

He can't just … _pretend_ that it isn't there anymore. He can't just try to walk past obliviously the way he could before.

Before Glee; before he actually _knew_ the people who have to deal with this on a regular (often daily) basis; before they weren't just nameless faces in the crowd anymore. Before he realized how fragile Rachel is; before he noticed how fake that smile she always wore on her face is; before he saw the way that carefully crafted façade slips just a tiny bit every time Santana called her RuPaul, or Quinn looked down her nose at her – like they had any right to pass judgment on people just because of the uniform they wear. Before he got that first slushie to the face (whether or not it was actually just from the parking lot, or from a machine in the cafeteria), and felt the cold humiliation and muffled laughter.

Because Mike isn't _that guy_ anymore; or at least, he's been trying his very best to not be.

He can't pretend that anyone deserves that because they don't fit a certain mold; he can't pretend that making anyone's eyes look as haunted and scared as he's seen Rachel's and Kurt's look is somehow _okay_.

He can't ignore the clenching in his gut that makes him cross the hall to the nearest bathroom and knock loudly. "Rachel?" he calls through the door amidst a few more knocks, "Rachel, are you in there? It's, uh … it's Mike. Do you, um, need any help?"

He can't ignore that, because he can't be another reason those pretty brown eyes shutter off. He can't let her draw in on herself the way he's seen her start to do; can't let her lose herself because people are telling her that who she _is_ isn't okay. He can't go with the flow and pretend that he hates her the way the social system at McKinley has decreed by example that everyone should … because he just _doesn't_.

He knows that if he does, he'll never be able to live with himself: because it's wrong.

So he can't; not anymore.

_-0-0-_

_Any requests, just let me know!_

_Please review!_


	43. Nice To Have Support

**_Just needed some Puckleberry, and this is what came of it. Follows AVGC, I think. Hope you enjoy!_**  
-0-0-

She didn't plan on doing this.

She's a strong girl. She doesn't need a shoulder to cry on, or a comforting hand. She doesn't need support. And if that's what she did need, this probably wouldn't be a good choice of a place to come for it. (Though deep down she knows that's not really true. There's so much more to Noah than meets the eye, or even can be found after levels of scrutiny, and he's much more adept with crying girls than he gives himself credit for; which she happens to know only from personal experience this past year.)

But she figures that eventually even the strongest person needs someone to lean on. And even if they don't … that doesn't mean having one isn't nice.

She's embarrassed, though, standing on his doorstep. What if his mother's home? She doesn't think she can deal with that right now. The thinly-veiled curiosity at her presence; the not-so-subtle hints that she's the very girl Mrs. Puckerman is dying to see her son marry, and eventually provide her with Jewish grandbabies; the questions about her life that she can't answer truthfully and calmly right now. What if his little sister's home? She loves spending time with Rebecca, but she's not really in the mood for an eight-year-old's energy and a Disney movie marathon (as much as she adores all the classics herself).

Luckily, though, Noah seems alone when she answers the door … with his shirt off.

His brow furrows, and he opens up his mouth – to spew some profanity-laced language vaguely resembling English, in the form of a question about her arrival, no doubt – before snapping it closed when he catches the vulnerability no doubt shining through in her eyes. He bypasses the swearing and the self-absorbed language she's so used to, in favor of a sincere, "Are you okay?"

She bites her lip, debating her answer. She _could_ say yes … but she's not up to lying at the moment; not to him.

She shakes her head, lip trembling as she blinks away the not-so-sudden onslaught of tears.

His curiosity turns to concern, and he brings his arms up to wrap around her tightly. She lets herself fall into them and relish in the warmth of his embrace (and possibly the feel of his abs against her upper torso), because that's what she came here for. This is what she can count on from him when things go wrong.

She didn't plan on this, but she doesn't know why she didn't. Because this is _exactly_ what she needs right now; the only thing in the world capable of possibly making this all better.

-0-0-  
**_Please review!_**


	44. Pavarotti Parallel

_A/N: Sorry, been sick, life is crazy, no excuse. But now onto more drabbles!_

_Kurt and Blaine are my new favourite couple, not going to lie. Even though they're not technically a couple yet. Darren Criss is my new love, and the whole Kurt/Blaine following over on LJ has swept me up and not yet let me down (not that I ever want to leave it). Anyways, I hope I did them justice in this piece! Or at least, did Kurt justice. Because this is pretty angsty, and Blaine has split personality disorder in it ... :S_

_But I hope you enjoy!_

_-0-0-_

He isn't sure whether he should find the obvious parallels between his current situation and Pavarotti's very existence _amusing_, or a cause for weariness.

As it is, he thinks it's a mixture of both, along with something else he can't seem to label – that twists uncomfortably in his gut. But it burns, and it kills, and it's the kind of feeling that he can't pop a Tylenol to make go away. It's a dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder … (he's just not quite sure what _for_).

_It's a metaphor_, he can practically hear Rachel's voice softly in his head, in that intense way of hers.

(The good kind of intense like when she's standing up for something he never thought she'd be passionate about, that leaves him pondering and bemused; or maybe like after she gives a particularly inspiring performance that leaves him feeling – oddly enough – a little bit proud of her. Not the scary kind of intense that has him raising his eyebrow concernedly at Mercedes and feeling an urge to run for hills, lest her crazy somehow become contagious.)

_And metaphors are important._

-0-0-

He expected to be happier.

Maybe he's judging the school too soon, maybe he's being too harsh, maybe his expectations weren't even the teensiest bit fair or realistic … but he _knows_ deep down that he's not as happy as he'd thought he could be here, despite how wonderful it is to see Blaine every day.

Even _that_ he has to take with a grain of salt.

Because this Blaine – the Blaine who smiles politely instead of brightly, who tells him to _not try so hard next time_, who talks calmly about villas and summer homes in magnificent places and trips to France over the summer with his parents, instead of passionately about Patti LuPone and Prop 8 and Katy Perry and Rent ... this isn't his Blaine. (Maybe he's being presumptuous again, but it's just how he feels.)

This Blaine looks like his Blaine, and talks with the same voice as his Blaine (albeit less enthusiastically), and has the same eyes as his Blaine ... but he's _not_ his Blaine.

(And when it comes down to it, he thinks what he expected the most was Blaine. It wasn't a conscious expectation or something he really thought about – _too much ..._ – but it was there, in the back of his mind; something that was supposed to go unsaid.

Now he just wants to scream it at him, though.)

He didn't expect to have to classify which Blaine he was dealing with, basically; His Blaine or Other Blaine.

He didn't expect to have to deal with more than one Blaine at all.

_-0-0-_

_Please review!_


	45. Ray of Hope

_A/N: Sorry, again. Exams, and life, and more exams, and summatives, and just, ugh. Sorry._

_Jeez, I haven't written Mercedes in forever! And I mean that in relation to things I _have_ written; not just that I haven't written very much _at all_ lately._

_I found this quote somewhere ... probably over on LJ. No, wait ... I think it was in an NCIS fanfic on this site, actually. Maybe._

_Wherever I found it, it stuck out to me. I was planning to write a Kurt drabble for it, but then I thought: where's the challenge in that? Relating a quote like that to Kurt is easy. And it's still not super hard with anyone else, but Mercedes in and of herself was a challenge. So I went for it._

_I hope you enjoy it and that I haven't gone rusty so soon. (BTW, if you've requested something I haven't forgotten. I _will_ get around to them. At some point. Promise.)_

* * *

_He who has never hoped can never despair._ – George Bernard Shaw

-0-0-

Mercedes has never been one to give up hope.

But lately, with everything … keeping it hasn't been easy at all.

What with the increase in persecution from the sports' teams lately, and Kurt jumping ship (understandably, as she now can see) for Dalton Academy, things have just _sucked_. And she's finding that slushie facials were a whole lot easier to deal with when Kurt was around to help her get back to fabulous right afterwards. Tina's around sometimes, but it's not the same. She misses her best friend's quick wit and steady strain of speech when she'd wash the artificially flavored ice out of her hair. Just his company made it less of an ordeal. It was easier to focus on the doings of the fashion world and the latest school gossip than it was to think about what had just happened.

But he's not around anymore.

And she doesn't blame him for that. _Much_, anyways; and she tries her hardest not to _at all_. (Because it's not his fault that no one can see past his sexual orientation; that the Letterman jacket-wearing, knuckle dragging, club swinging Neanderthals at this school can't deal with the fact that _hey, he isn't the same as everyone else_.) But it's hard to keep that little bit of hurt that she can't seem to bed rid of from coloring her opinion every time she thinks about him at Dalton, so far away from her.

Getting back to the point, though …

Mercedes believes that even when things seem their darkest, there's always a way back to the light. It's just the way she is, the outlook she chooses to have on life.

She's just saying that when you're walking down a crowded hallway, with your head pointed down at the ground, and two different flavored slushies dripping down your hair and face to the ground and your (in her case, fabulous) clothes … it's not easy to see that light shining through. Sometimes it doesn't shine though.

And lately she's all but felt like there was no hope anywhere to be found.

But then, Mrs. Miller writes a quote by George Bernard Shaw on the board and tells the class to write a few paragraphs about what it means to them, and why.

She isn't quite sure what to do with the assignment; because yeah, she can relate it to her life, but she isn't about to start pouring her heart and soul onto a lined piece of paper for her third period teacher to read, mark, and not care about. (She's sick and tired of the faculty doing nothing. At least when they don't really _know_, it feels less like they're letting them all down with their excuses and turned eyes.) So she writes some bullshit and people coming together in tough times in their despair to find the ray of hope shining through, even though that's not what she feels when she reads the quote _at all_, and hands it in as she leaves.

But on the way to her locker, as she dodges a plastic cup, she _knows_ what it means to her.

It means that is she – and the rest of them – are this miserable, there's got to be a chance that waiting somewhere around the corner there's a change in the air.

And hey … maybe it will get better.

* * *

_Please review!_


	46. What Did It All Mean

_A/N: This was actually really hard to write. I got the first 700 words out, but I just couldn't seem to get the last 100 right for about a week. How sad is that?_

_An Artie & Santana drabble was requested - not a romance between the two, but about Brittany. And this is what became of it. So t__his is for ... someone. Oh my goodness, I'm forgetting who's requested what! So sorry, whoever it was! (At least I remembered the request, right?)_

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Artie never planned on being stuck in a constant fight with _Santana Lopez_ for his girlfriend's affections.

(Though he never really planned on Brittany ever being his girlfriend; _ever_.)

It shouldn't be this hard, either, he doesn't think. Brittany's dating him, so obviously she likes something about him. But it's as though every single day is an uphill, never-ending battle against McKinley's self-proclaimed head bitch in charge to keep Brittany's attention and love … and most of the time he's losing.

He doesn't say anything at first, because Brittany and Santana _are_ best friends; everyone knows that. And they have been practically since they came out of the womb. Maybe even before that, for all anyone knows. But another commonly known fact is that Santana and Brittany frequently have sex – not just in general, which is _also _common knowledge, but – with each other. So naturally, he's pretty wary from the beginning.

But when he decides that he _has_ to say something, he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Because obviously he has to talk to one of them, and there's no way he's talking about this to Santana herself – because a) she's scary, and b) she'd probably just smirk and say, "Learn to deal with it, Wheels; because I'm winning," like it's some kind of _game_, which to her it just might be – but how does one approach begin to approach this with Brittany?

Look how well things went when he accused her of cheating with Mike, after all.

And he's not accusing her cheating exactly … yet. Okay, maybe he is; but not _accusing_, so much as … _asking_ – because he really just wants to know if he should give their relationship up for a lost cause and try to find/restore some semblance of his old dignity back to a fraction of what it was.

"Look, Brittany …" He decides to just go for it at the end of Glee practice one day. Even though Santana's practically right next to them and he's afraid that by the end of the conversation she'll be smirking that _I win_ smirk as he rolls out the door in shame. "What's going on between you and Santana?" A couple people look over blatantly; others are less obvious about their eavesdropping; others really just don't care.

"Well, right now there's the air and two chairs between us," she says, looking around, "but they're not going anywhere … well, maybe the air is, because when I twirl I can feel it, but I don't think chairs can move by themselves …"

"No, I meant– It's just– Are you two still … having sex?"

"Oh! Yeah," she replies, smiling as she leaned down to kiss him. She grabs her bag, looking at him and asking easily, "Why?"

He blushes a little bit, looking away. "Well, Brittany … you're dating me, right?" _He thinks a clarification is necessary right now._

She nods slowly, a small smile coming back to her face.

"Well, when you're dating someone, Brittany, have sex with someone else is _cheating_."

That makes her smile disappear pretty quickly. Her brow furrows unbelievingly.

"But sex isn't dating, so it's not like I'm dating anyone other than you," she protests in her innocent, sweet, and vaguely detached-sounding tone. He opens his mouth to explain that that's not how it works, but she continues. "And Santana's a girl," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And sure, that fact itself is pretty self-explanatory, but it's obvious that it means something else to Brittany that he just isn't getting. "It's, like … you're a guy. You're the guy that I'm with. We're together, and that means something. But with Santana, we fool around and stuff, but we're best friends. And since we're both girls and we're both straight, it doesn't mean anything."

Artie still isn't sure he gets it; not really. Because cheating is cheating, no matter whom it's with and what your orientation is. But it's Brittany, and _she_ doesn't think that she's done anything wrong, and he just can't be mad at her for it. (Besides, it's a relief to know that this uphill battle hasn't been so much of a battle at all, really …)

He just smiles, because what else can he do?

She beams back instantaneously, and _that_'s what makes this all worth it. The confusion, and the misunderstandings, and the _Brittany_ … One flash of that smile, and it's like nothing else matters.

(She sits down on his lap, and he rolls them towards the door.

He forgives her. They have to talk about this more, sure, because he isn't really cool with her having sex with Santana while they're together, but it's nice to know that she's still being faithful to him in her own mind. That she cares more about him.

Just as they're leaving, though, he catches a glimpse of something in Santana's eye that he can't quite identify. Confusion, at first, maybe, then … pain?

And he has to wonder whether or not the Latina was previously aware that it 'didn't mean anything' to the blonde at all.)

* * *

_Please review!_


	47. Should Have Left Unsaid

_A/N: This is a Quick drabble that I'm pretty sure I owe to Imma(dot)Gleek(dot)x from a while back. (Been going through reviews looking for requests I missed; oops.)_

_It turned out pretty long, and I was debating posting it as a oneshot, but I couldn't think of a title or summary that would work and I really wanted to get another drabble posted. (I started a Sam/Rachel fill for someone else and I think it's turning into a longer story, haha; another oops.)_

_Anyways, I really hope you like it! I'm kinda self-conscious about this one ... Not sure how it turned out :/_

* * *

She's kind of a bitch.

Not in the same way that Santana is a bitch, because that's one brand of callous and uncaring insanity that would be hard to duplicate. And not in the same way that everyone thinks Rachel Berry is a bitch because she's determined and confident and everything that almost no one else in this town is (like she has the key out of this place, and she knows it as well as all of the people around her know it); because she's loud and abrasive and just doesn't know when the heck she should just keep her mouth _shut_.

She's kind of a bitch in the way that sometimes she says things just to push the boundaries; just to cause that flash of pain just because she _can_, and because she wants someone else to have to hurt the way she does.

She doesn't even remember what she said, really. But it was cruel and it was pointed and it's the kind of thing you don't go around saying to people, because eventually it will just turn everyone who has ever been on your side against you. (But part of her is screaming at her to chase everyone away and _soon_, not to mention _good riddance_, because it would be so much easier in theory than watching them all walk away, abandoning her when she isn't prepared for it.)

It's not supposed to be any different than anything she's ever said to him before. Nothing worse than the already-cruel _You're nothing but a Lima Loser, and you're never going to be anything more than a Lima Loser_ sentiment she's been practically oozing at him since he found out she was preggers with his spawn.

But she opens her mouth and before she knows it she's said something so much worse.

She couldn't even tell you exactly what she'd said. It was awful and in the heat of the moment. But she could tell you that it was something about his father, and the apple not falling for from the tree. And she could tell you that she's never seen anyone close off as quickly as he does the moment the words fall head-first out of her mouth. (Not even Rachel Berry the moment the freezing, artificially-flavored ice chunks of a slushie hit her in the face and she settles into her unaffected façade almost seamlessly.) He almost pulls it off as well, too … Except she can clearly see the tight clench of his jaw and the glimpse of something nearly unidentifiable flashing in his eyes before he mumbles an excuse and bolts upstairs to his room.

So, yeah; she's a bitch.

**oooooooooo**

His door slams shut, and she flinches.

Not that she has any real right to, but she does; she can't help it.

She wonders what happened to her (besides the obvious, of course); to that girl from a couple months ago – the one who held her head high, and knew exactly the right things to do and say. That girl said things pointedly and with cruel execution, but only on purpose. It was controlled, measured, calculated; never careless.

She's never been this out of control before.

Not that that's an acceptable excuse for what she said, but it's true. She doesn't have control of her body, she doesn't have control of where she's staying (because Puck's house is literally her only option right now), she doesn't have control over the way people at school treat her anymore. She doesn't have control of her emotions or her hormones, and she doesn't have control over the kind of food she's been desperately craving.

All of that had been enough of a culture shock.

She never thought she'd lose control of her speech, too.

**oooooooooo**

She sits downstairs in the living room for a long time, feet curled up under her on the cozy, worn couch as she works through Spanish verb tenses and conjugations, algebraic equations, and the required reading of her third period English class.

She does her homework and assignments dutifully for as long as she can stand the silence.

But then she just _can't_ anymore. She stands up slowly, stretching her legs out and assuring that she's steady on her own two feet. (She doesn't want to know what kind of consequences there would be if she fell at this point, because it's not just herself that she has to look out for now.)

She pads up the stairs on the balls of her fuzzy sock-clad feet, pausing once at the landing and again just outside his bedroom door. She listens for a moment, to the soft plucking of the strings on his guitar. A succession of chords – maybe five or six different ones – repeated; his voice occasionally croons along with lyrics unfamiliar, and she can't help but wonder if it's a song he wrote himself. With that thought she lifts her hand and gently knocks, because she feels like she's intruding on something sacred and private.

The sound slipping through the crack under his door stops immediately, and she hears a rustling of movement; probably him setting his guitar down somewhere. When it's done he calls out a gruff yet surprisingly gentle, "Come in."

She turns the doorknob slowly, sticking her head through the frame first but not daring to actually enter. He doesn't look angry; not really. No more angry than he does at any moment of any given day, anyway. He looks a little sad, though; and she knows that he'd hate it if he knew she could tell he was upset. (_The Puckerone doesn't show weakness_, he'd tell her ridiculously. As though feeling any kind of human emotion is a _weakness_.)

He waves her in, nonetheless, and she carefully steps over a single rumpled shirt on the carpeted floor. He shuffles over, and she takes a seat at the foot of his bed where he's laying, blushing slightly.

She alternately looks between the hem of her baby doll dress – just below her knees when she's sitting like this, framed in pale blue lace – and his face. He keeps moving his jaw around, tensing it and rotating it around. It makes him look both younger and older than he is, she thinks; petulant and beaten down by the world, respectively.

"I'm sorry."

It's not the first time she's said those words; not by a long shot. But this is the first time she's meant it so honestly and completely; the first time it's come straight from the heart, with raw regret.

He seems to get that.

He nods, pushing himself up from his comfortable, devil-may-care lounge against the headboard, swinging his legs over the side and sitting beside her. He hesitates only momentarily before wrapping a hand around hers where it's been resting on his dark grey bedspread. He nods again.

She leans her head on his shoulder, blinking rapidly and murmuring _I'm sorry_, over and over again as he rubs his thumb gently over the back of her hand.

* * *

_Please review!_


	48. Endgame in NYC

_A/N: Puckleberry, for _**rogue4ever**_ who requested it some time ago._

_Just a little something, set in the future, totally from Puck's POV._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He hasn't told her yet.

Puck can tell by the way she looks at him, all hopeful, when she first sees him every morning that she's waiting for the news. And he'd almost feel bad about keeping it from her if he didn't have a totally badass and foolproof plan for doing it.

She's the reason he's gotten this far, after all; Rachel with her planning and her determination and her belief that he's capable. She's the one who convinced him into attend all his classes this year (well, most … habits don't change overnight, after all); she's the one who stayed with him, when he was frustrated beyond belief, quizzing him on Chemistry and explaining quadratic equations into the early hours of the morning and making sure he didn't forget when his exams were; she's the one who helped him put all the thoughts in his mind into words on a page for his university applications.

When even his mother had all but given him up for a lost cause by the fall of senior year, she just raised an eyebrow and told him that he could get a scholarship to Harvard if he put his mind to it or was so inclined to want to get his degree from there. And maybe he didn't believe her that far – because seriously, _Harvard_, when he didn't attend a single Math class in sophomore year? Yeah, right – but it was the push he needed to buckle down and give a shit about school. He was done disappointing people, especially the last one who had faith in him.

He got the letter last week. The others all came about a month ago (and she'd had him apply to _everywhere_, seriously) with more acceptances than rejections, which was really something, as far as he's concerned. He had the same football scholarship to OSU as Finn, and that was his back-up plan all along. But he bided his time, waiting desperately for that one letter to come back.

He still couldn't really believe it.

He was worried about finances before he even got the acceptance – but that's what savings were for, right, and he'd get a job somewhere close to his dorm/apartment/whatever as soon as he could. In the end it all came down to whether or not they'd actually let him into the school.

It's been _the one_ since he and Rachel got together the spring of junior year. Getting out of Ohio has always been on his mind, but there was no definite until he heard her babbling on about Julliard and Broadway and streets filled with yellow taxis, and sky scrapers, and did she mention _Broadway_. And sure, he doesn't care much about all that shit.

An arts school, a bunch of musicals, more pollution than he's ever breathed in before, and a mountain of people wherever you turned … whatever, right? Not exactly his idea of paradise.

But it's where she's going to be; it's where she's always been heading. Ever since she was old enough to hear about it and talk about it and dream about it – and sing about it, naturally – New York City has been her endgame.

So now, in the form of an acceptance letter from NYU, it's his, too; because _she_'s his endgame.

* * *

_Please review!_


	49. Kidding Ourselves

_A/N: An angst-y not-really-Sam/Quinn drabble. I got this idea from a spoiler, and you could probably deduce what that spoiler is if you read it. Ugh, I'm not quite sure how to warn this ... Sorry. But I guess that what happens in this, essentially (but not quite exactly) is something that has been reported to happen within the next two episodes. If that makes sense?_

_Gah. I'm sorry._

_Anyway ... crap, I have no idea what to do for 50! AAAH! __Anything you want to see? Lemma know._

_As a result of my poor planning, the next one will definitely be a couple days in the making. (I now make my third apology in this AN.)_

_Hope you like! :)_

* * *

He's sweet. He's polite, attractive, attentive, and wonderful; he treats her like a queen, really.

And it's nice.

He asks her how she's feeling; he knows when she's lying when tells him that she's fine; he knows the right time to push the issue, and when it's best to let it be. He cares about her, and when he smiles that lopsided smile of his that never fails to reach his eyes – when he wraps his arms around her and whispers in her ear that she's not only 'hot' or 'sexy' like most people see her, but _stunning_ and _inspiring_ – she feels something warm stir in her chest.

But she isn't sure who they're trying to fool anymore.

They're not _meant to be_. They're both just seventeen, for goodness' sake. They're not going to last; they're not going to go off to college, get married, settle down for the rest of their lives, and have 2.5 children, a dog, and a white picket fence. Every time she looks down and catches a glimpse of the promise ring he gave her, she wants to scoff. She doesn't even think they're really in love. (She doesn't know if either of them really knows what love _is_.)

So she's done.

She's done pretending that they're anything more than two teenagers in high school who want someone to spend their time with.

Because there's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with wanted to be with someone; to have someone to hold and be held by, and to talk to, and to care about. She does want that. But she knows that he wants more. He wants commitment that she doesn't feel capable of giving.

She can't stick by him and be the Barbie to his Ken if he's thinking forever. Because she isn't looking to think about much more than what's right here, right now.

She slips the ring off, placing it back in the blue velvet box it came in, and leaving it exactly where it was when she took it from his locker. She leaves a simple note that reads nothing more than:

_I'm sorry._

_-Q_

She is; she really is. But she just can't keep doing this anymore.

Because the main people they've been fooling are themselves.

* * *

_Please review!_


	50. Because It'd Be Worth It

_*******SPOILER ALERT FOR THE SUPER BOWL EPISODE THAT AIRED FEBRUARY 6TH.*******_

_A/N: So, I wrote this last night right after I saw the Super Bowl Ep. And it's a darn good thing I waited until today to post it, because it needed so much editing after being frantically typed __out__ by my half-asleep self at eleven thirty at night, it's not even funny. *shakes head*_

_Anyways, I don't know if this one's really 'special' like I wanted to make this fiftieth one be ... but I think I really needed to write it. The episode was so full of things (all the drabble material in there! I'm so happy!) that begged to be expanded on. And that last scene - before the serious WTF that was Quinn cheating on Sam with Finn; why would they go there? - with Karofsky and Finn almost killed me._

_I curse this ep for making me not hate Karofsky when I'm so determined to do so. It's not that I'm _liking _him now, but there was just something I couldn't bring myself to despise any longer._

_So this entirely from Finn's POV (which might be awful, let me know) following their exchange of words. The conversation in included, and it's accurate because I re-watched that bit over and over until I got it right. ;)_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (And I also hope that the fandom world we enjoy isn't decimated by tonight's Valentine's episode; from what I've heard I'm afraid it will be wonderful, or a complete train-wreck. *chews fingernails*)_

* * *

"_What do you think? We all dance together and win a football game and everything's going to change? Glee club's going to be cool, and we're all going to sing hippie peace songs every morning?" -Karofksy_

"_I don't know, maybe?" -Finn_

-o-o-o-

It'd be easier that way, wouldn't it?

If they could get people to forget about their reputations for a few minutes and consider what's important. Like, how much you enjoy something, and how it makes you feel … and whether you do it because you enjoy it or because it's what society's trying to tell you you're supposed to do; whether you give up on something because you don't care that much, or because it's not worth risking other peoples' opinions about you.

It shouldn't matter … because what other people think isn't _supposed_ to matter. But unfortunately, in Lima and at WMHS specifically, it's practically the only thing that does.

It was probably naïve of Finn to think that the Thriller mash-up at half-time was going to change things. But he really did.

If all those guys could get over their previous misconceptions and have fun performing for half the town at the game, why couldn't it? If Quinn, Brittany, and Santana can quit the Cheerios because Glee is the thing that makes them happy, why can't other people see that the stupid things really don't matter? Why can't they see that it's okay to do what you love, and that no one has the right to rag on you for it?

If the guys who call them names – and throw slushies at them, and disrespect them at every chance they get – can see what being in Glee is really like, and even kind of _enjoy_ doing it, then why can't anyone else?

It's a suck-y realization to come to; that after all of that, things really _aren't_ going to change. Especially when they _could_ – when that ever-possible future is _so close_ that Finn can practically taste it; right there on the tip of his tongue, taunting him but always remaining just out of his reach.

It's like that thing they do to horses, he thinks; having that stupid cardboard cut-out of a dog along the side of the racetrack, keeping the horses chasing after even though they can never catch it. (He wonders if Kurt's right about God; either that there isn't one … or that if there, is he gets a kick out of watching people down on Earth scramble around like rats in a fucking maze, desperately trying to accomplish the impossible.)

-o-o-o-

"_No, dude, it's a finish. This is high school. People's memories for good things last about as long as their Facebook status." -Karofsky_

"_We've got a chance to really change things here." -Finn_

-o-o-o-

And they do.

_Everything_ could change.

They have this chance, now that they've finally gotten other people to understand, to change the way everything is perceived at McKinley. They can fix things before they spiral any more out of control, and make this hell-hole they call a school into a place where people aren't afraid to step through the doors in the morning.

(The Kurt situation really got him thinking; even though he doesn't think anyone knows the full extent of that situation but Kurt himself. About how awful it must be to be so afraid that walking around just being who you are is going to get the crap kicked out of you. To be that unsafe in a place that's supposed to be secure. And the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that there have _got_ to be more kids in that position at McKinley, and everywhere. And they have the chance to change that now before things get any worse; maybe even have a chance to fix the errors of the past.)

Mr. Schue talks about making Glee club cool again, but at this point Finn's aim is really only to make it socially acceptable again. People shouldn't have to deal with crap for doing something they enjoy; for singing and dancing and expressing themselves when they can't do so anywhere else.

It's not even just about Glee anymore, though.

It's about everyone having the right to do whatever the hell they want, if it makes them happy and it's what they want to do. (As long as it's not illegal; like setting stuff on fire the way Puck likes to, or vandalizing buildings or train cars or whatever. So doing whatever, but within understandable boundaries – like that of the law.)

It's about making it acceptable again for people to simply be who they are.

Because if you're not yourself, who are you? Finn knows from experience that pretending to be someone else isn't just exhausting, it also makes you miserable. He's spent enough time trying to fit the mold the hierarchy squished him into, and it sucked because he never felt like _him_.

He's seen that look on Kurt's face; and Rachel's, and Quinn's, and Tina's, and he's seen it staring back at himself in the mirror a lot more recently than he's proud to admit. They may have Glee for two-and-a-half hours every week, but they still have to compromise themselves to a certain point every day. Because the world directly outside the choir room doesn't run the same way things do inside of it.

It doesn't have to be that way.

But now, when they have the chance to change that, no one's willing to step up to plate.

-o-o-o-

"_I'm on top. Why would I want to change things?" -Karofsky_

-o-o-o-

It's easy to say that when you _are_ on top.

Finn can attest to that one, too. The football team sucked before Coach Beiste came along, but even being quarterback of a team who lost every single game made him king of the school. And when people look up to you, and you don't have to put up with the same kind of crap the losers do – when it's not hurting you – it's easy to pretend like there's nothing wrong with the system.

Not that you don't have to put up with crap.

You have to put up with pressure, and expectations, and all the unspoken rules that he never understood about the 'acceptable', and the 'right', and the 'totally, glaringly wrong'. You have to bend over backwards to fit the mold they expect from you, and you have to do it all with a casual smile – like juggling all those responsibilities alongside normal life isn't a challenge every single day.

But you don't get pushed into lockers, and you don't get artificially-flavored corn syrup-coated ice chips tossed into your face every day, and you don't get thrown into dumpsters or locked in port-a-potties.

There's this thing about being on top, though …

It's fickle. And it's fleeting.

It's unstable, and you never know quite when the rug is going to be unceremoniously ripped out from underneath you. And when it is – and this is definitely a case of 'when' and not 'if'; because in high school, when it feels like everything in the world is against you, it's probably because it is – you're left gasping for air and floundering around with the culture shock that comes along with falling so far down on the social ladder.

So, he wants to say Karofsky, _Why the hell not?_

Because by any logical reasoning, it's a benefit for everyone – every single person – to get rid of the problem now instead of pretending that it isn't there; (instead of letting it fester until it's even more out of control than it already is).

But he doesn't … and not just because he's not entirely sure that Karofsky wouldn't punch him in the face and/or the gut for it, even after the events of the past week. He keeps his mouth closed and lets Karofsky walk away because he honestly believes that nothing he could say right now would do any good; because he's fairly certain that it could only make things worse.

He doesn't say anything, because Karofsky seems kind of unstable at the moment. Like he's caught somewhere between okay-guy and complete-and-utter-asshole, and can go from one to the other in about five seconds. (And messing with someone that volatile is just never a good idea.)

He keeps his mouth closed because he knows it, and everyone else in Glee knows it, but it's not something you can explain very well. It's something you have to feel for yourself to really believe. And not only does that make it damn near impossible to persuade Karofsky, but it makes his point moot with the fact that they might not be able to change anything at all, no matter what they do.

-o-o-o-

"Because it would be worth it to try," Finn wishes he could have said.

But it's not easy to explain the reasoning behind that, either, he supposes.

* * *

_Please review! It would mean so much!_


	51. Lost Without

_A/N: Shorter one compared to others of late, but I felt like it needed to be written._

_Still working on requests; life crazy still, but slowly evening out and becoming more manageable. More things to come up soon!_

_BTW, this is Santana's POV. I think I forgot to mention her name in the actual drabble ..._

_Set after _The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle_._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

She doesn't remember at first.

The half-time show was cool (maybe not by the standard meaning of the word, but it was _fun_, at least), and it was easy to forget just what it meant that she, Britt, and Quinn were even there. But running on auto-pilot at sex-thirty the next morning, wrapped in her robe and towel-drying her hair as she hums along to her clock radio ("_all my life I've been good but, Whoa-oa-oa, I'm thinking what the hell_"), she reaches for one of the starkly-pressed white and red, 'WMHS'-emblazoned uniforms … and it hits her.

_She's not a Cheerio anymore._

It's not like the Cheerios have been any fun the last couple of months; definitely not the way it was freshman year, despite the pain and the insults and getting used to Coach Sylvester's crazy. The sheer joy of being invited to the squad _as a freshman_ along with her best friend in the entire world had overshadowed any unpleasantness, and the instant popularity boost was just extra.

Lately, though, the popularity has been something a lifeline, unlike it's ever been. Rehearsals were down-right exhausting, Coach was becoming increasingly devil-may-care in her attitude towards their safety (finally peaking to _fatally dangerous_ with trying to shoot Britt out of a canon), and she felt no sense of unity in the team – of mutual respect been fellow performers/athletes/whatever-they-referred-to-themselves-as-this-week. (Especially not after tasting what it's like to be a part of something like Glee; not that she'd admit it.) The social status that wearing the uniform brought was the last thing left in the 'pros' column, as far as she's concerned. If it wasn't for that, she'd have left the Cheerios a long time ago.

She's wary now of what it will mean to not be a Cheerio.

No automatic pass into the elite; no crowds parting in the hallways or place to sit cafeteria. No feeling of belonging, not even to something she was growing to despise. No sense of protection from the hell the others face every day. (She's not naïve enough to think that the football team will have really changed because of one musical number. Because life just doesn't work that way, sorry; it's still an unfair bitch.)

She doesn't know what to do without that uniform.

* * *

_Please review!_


	52. Torn Between Two

_A/N: Spoiler alert for episode 2.12, _Silly Love Songs_. And also the very end of 2.11, _The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle_, kind of, I guess._

_I'm very upset with this storyline. I don't care if they want to get Finn and Quinn back together, I don't care if she breaks up with Sam, but I can't _stand_ to see her cheat of someone again. I can't stand to watch Finn cheat with someone after he got so angry with Rachel for kissing Puck when their relationship was on the rocks. I can't stand it. It makes me so sad and disappointed._

_And from all of that, somehow this drabble was born. Quinn's POV, talk of Sam/Quinn and Finn/Quinn. Debated posting it seperately, because I've posted shorter oneshots, but decided to leave it as a drabble._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

She's torn.

Caught, again, in between two guys; just her luck.

She swore she would never do this again; never commit such a shameful act of betrayal.

She guesses she was wrong.

-o-o-o-

She thinks she's a terrible person.

His heated breath brushes gently against her cheek, but the warmth of it has nothing to do with the decided flush of her cheeks. His lips are close, closer than they should be, but farther away than she wishes they were.

It feels like home; having his arms wrapped around her. _And isn't that a scary thought._

It's almost easy to forget what's going on here. Not what's actually _going on_, but rather what this means; what secondary act she is committing by being here and kissing Finn. But then suddenly it's impossible to forget, and besides the heady fluttering of butterflies in her stomach she also feels something more poignant and much less pleasant: _guilt_. Because, oh God, what is she doing?

She pulls away, and he lets go reluctantly; slowly. She resists the urge to lick her lips and taste him again, because that seems worse than actually having his lips pressed against hers.

She tries to tell him that this can't happen. That this can never happen again, not when she's with someone else. Not when she thinks she might love that somebody else too. Not that she still loves Finn, because she doesn't. (She _doesn't_, okay? _She can't_.) It doesn't come out, though.

Instead of _I can't be with you_, it comes out along the same lines as _I can't be yours exclusively_, and that just isn't right. But she can't seem to bring herself to correct it. Because he's looking at her, half newly-discovered-confident-smirk and half naïve-puppy-dog-face-with-the-dopey-smile, and she loves it as much as she hates him for it.

He shouldn't be able to make her have these feelings, but he does.

She tells him she might love Sam, he tells her he doesn't, but she tells him back that nothing can change until she knows one way or the other. But he leans down and kisses her again, and when she stops him it's only half-hearted. Her head says no, but her heart says_ yes, yes, yes_ at the same time – and that's when she _knows_ she's a terrible person; and not just a semi-decent person who's making a mistake

(But she also knows that neither of them is going to stop. Not when being together feels like this; feels so right in all the ways that aren't blatantly wrong.)

-o-o-o-

God is telling her something, obviously.

And even if he isn't, she's getting the message loud and clear. Some divine power, or karma, is showing her that bad things happen when you cheat; giving her more proof that what she's doing is _wrong_. As if she doesn't already know that every time she looks up from her constant position at Sam's side and sees Finn, _thank you very much_.

He smirks when he catches her eye, in a way that's definitely new for him (mostly self-assured, but also knowingly in a way that reminds her of the way Puck would look at her all the time before the secret came out. And damn it, did she really need to make another parallel to that situation?). It infuriates her a little bit (read: a whole lot) that he still seems to be trying to exude such innocence; as if what he's doing isn't just as wrong.

But she can't help the smile on her face whenever he does. Can't help the giddy feeling that takes her back to over a year ago, when she _was_ still innocent and pure, and she could kiss him in the hallway if she wanted to, and she was President of the Celibacy Club, and people didn't whisper behind her back about what a slut she is.

She's getting the message, but she thinks that maybe somewhere in there she's missing out on caring about the point.

-o-o-o-

She wishes she felt worse.

The mono is awful, of course; her head is pounding twenty four seven, and she feels as though she won't be able to get out of bed for, oh, the next _couple of weeks_, probably.

She wishes, though, that she felt worse about the whole situation; as in _situation_-situation. She wishes she felt bad enough to stop, or bad enough to choose one boy over the other and be done with it for good.

But she's not that strong.

-o-o-o-

She wonders if he suspects anything.

If he can tell even by his short visits to her house while she's home sick that she isn't being faithful, emotionally _or_ physically. She doesn't think he does.

He kisses her forehead sweetly – avoiding the lips to prevent further spread of germs, naturally – and she feels dirty. She almost wishes her infidelity was written all over her face, plain to see, because then this wouldn't be prolonged. She wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore in the long run; he'd get angry and get over her now and save himself having to exert the effort later.

But he doesn't say anything; still just smiles and brings her the work from her classes, and says _I love you_ when he leaves.

She says it back, but it feels wrong in her throat. Weirdly shaped words as they come out, hanging oddly in the air between them. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth and another wave of unpleasantness in her gut, but not because it's a lie; no.

But because she thinks it's the truth; and because if it is, it means she's not just in love with one boy, but this one too.

* * *

_What are your thoughts on this recent plot development?_

_Please review!_


	53. What A Word Means

_A/N: Don't know where this came from. It's just ramble-y and pointless and odd but ... I enjoyed writing it, more than I've enjoyed writing practically anything recently, and I like it. :)_

_I hope you like it too!_

_(From Kurt's POV.)_

* * *

It all comes down to this, as crazy as it seems.

_Courage_; but what does courage even mean, anyway?

It's funny, he thinks; that a single word brought him so much hope before he'd even begun to comprehend what it might really be trying to tell him. When it was a platitude given him by the first person who had any sort of clue what he's going through; just a symbol of the connection forming that he already cherished, and not even really the word it is.

Strange, he thinks; that it still brings a smile to his lips and makes him take a deep breath to see past the pain that sometimes wells up inside of him. Strange only because of the fact that it's probably brought him more trouble than good, if one were to think logically (which, lately, he admittedly hasn't been.)

A single word; illuminated by the internal light of his cell phone's screen, plastered underneath a – possibly stalker-like – photo on the inside of his locker door, ringing through his mind as he stalks into a near-empty locker room and _stands up for himself_ at the exact wrong moment in time.

He can't help but think that Blaine probably never meant it to mean as much as it did; does. Maybe he only sent it in lieu of lacking a better message at the time. Maybe it was a throwaway saying that he never expected Kurt to remember clearly; certainly never expect to always have hanging around in the back of his mind.

The more he learns about Blaine, the more likely that possibility seems.

Because, as it turns out, Blaine doesn't have _a clue_ what he's doing. Not really; not the way it had seemed once upon a time. (How can it feel so long ago and yet like yesterday; like nothing's happened since, when practically everything of importance has?)

Maybe Kurt should be angry. Pissed off that something Blaine sent him offhandedly led to _that situation_ in the locker room with a boy he will probably always subconsciously carry fear for, cradled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, that he gave him unintentionally dangerous advice while trying to play the mentor.

But he isn't.

And he thinks that none of that really matters. Not in the same context as _courage_, at least.

Because he thinks, now, that courage means more than storming after ignorant, homophobic bullies; more than holding his head high when people tell him he isn't allowed to be who he is; more than sticking it out when things start to get tough. And that also it means something less; something simpler, and understated, and unimportant.

Point is … he still doesn't even know what it means; no more than Blaine did when he typed it out on the keypad of his phone and pressed _send_, thinking it didn't mean anything. (It means _something_ and _nothing_ simultaneously, and possible _everything_, too.)

But now they get to figure out what it means _together_, the two of them; what it means for each of them as individuals as well as collectively. And maybe courage is really just having the strength and determination to start that journey; but maybe it isn't, too.

And that's okay.

* * *

_Please review!_


	54. And The Berry Is Back

_A/N: Written because I want the old Rachel back, who at least has reason and determination in her (lovable) craziness. And also because I was bored while watching the Grammys, which I was watching in the first place because I was bored. ;)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

She's ashamed.

But probably not of what you'd think.

Not of sending Sunshine to a crack house; or trying to force religion onto Kurt when all he really needed was someone to be there – somebody very much in the flesh, not some possibly non-existent higher power; or kissing Puck when she found out that Finn had slept with Santana. (Of course, she is ashamed of all of those things; but they're not important right now.)

She's just ashamed of herself; of what's happened to her.

She doesn't recognize what she sees in the mirror anymore, and that terrifies her more than anything ever has before. (Even that clown at the city fair that she rightfully deemed in her mind The Infamous Horrifying-Clown-Incident of '02.) She feels like the girl staring back at her is a shell of who she once was; a heart-broken shadow with no self-respect or sense of direction. (And if there's one thing Rachel Berry used to have, it's direction.)

Last year she never would have let this happen, and that's just a fact. The Rachel Berry of yore wouldn't stand to be so weak or off-track. That Rachel Berry was determined; she knew was she wanted, and she had a 25-step plan – effective immediately – to reaching her dreams, and she'd be darned if anything would get in her way.

But a couple dopey smiles flashed her way, and what is she reduced to?

A lovesick teenager, that's what. Head-over-heels in love with the quarterback/male lead, and willing to compromise everything she's ever prided herself in being, and for what, really … the affections of _some boy_? Who didn't even appreciate her the way she was; who made her feel like she had to change in order to not only _please_ him, but be _good enough_ for him.

She glimpses her own eyes, staring back through the looking glass with a weariness she doesn't remember.

She hates this. Hates that this is what she's been reduced to; that she was really so desperate for somebody's – anybody's – affection that she felt like all of this was okay.

This isn't Rachel Berry (insert gold star here). This isn't Just Rachel. This isn't even some unrecognizable hybrid of the two. This is a version so far out in the left field that she doesn't know how she's going to find her way back again.

But she's _going_ to. And with that, a familiar flash reflects in her eyes and it makes her feel more at home than she has in a long time. One deep breath, in and out; and she's done. Done chasing, done pining; done accepting anything less than total acceptance of Rachel Berry (insert gold star here). Because this is who she is, like it or not; (which is admittedly more often 'not' as far as anyone in Lime is concerned besides her dads, but that's okay – because Lima, Ohio is just the mandatory first step in her inevitable rise to stardom).

And she's through being ashamed of that.

* * *

_Please review!_


	55. Not Drunk Enough

_A/N: Sorry, guys, life got in the way again._

_Tag to 2.14 _Blame It On The Alcohol_._

* * *

She's drunk.

Part of her is ashamed; because who ever would have guessed a year and a half ago that she'd end up here, like this, sipping alcohol she can't remember the name of out of a cold bottle, in Rachel Berry's basement? This isn't where her life was supposed to go, that's for sure. This isn't what good Catholic girls are supposed to do with their lives.

But another part of her really doesn't care. Because she's not a good Catholic girl anymore; she made a mistake and threw that away last year after her first wine cooler, because _she felt fat that day_. (That would be reason enough to drink now, she thinks; but she has other things she's trying to forget. And the baby that came about from that night of wine coolers is one of them.)

The world's pleasantly hazy for a while, and she stops drinking because she's not stupid enough to go so far as to start forgetting her own name. She's only stupid enough to think that the unpleasant amber liquid – that burns on the way down – is going to make her feel better. She's not going to get so smashed she makes a mistake to rival last year's; no way, no how.

But a couple more hours in (to the early morning, probably; God, they're all going to be so screwed when they wake up) and things aren't so pleasantly hazy anymore. She's not a happy drunk – like Mercedes and Tina seem to be – she doesn't think, because mostly she just feels crappy and pissed. She's tripping over her feet and yelling stupid things and garbled words even she can barely make out, but some things are just a little too clear for comfort.

Mike and Tina are making out in the corner, and Brittany's giving Artie a rather awkward-looking lap dance across the room. And while she holds no grudge against either of the couples, the happiness and sheer relative-normality of their relationships makes her envious. Even less pleasant is Rachel nearby, hanging all over Finn; and though it doesn't look as though he's overjoyed by it, he isn't pushing her away to obviously either.

Which brings her around the room, full circle, to where Santana and Sam are _getting it on_; with his hands melded to her ass and their lips fused together, they might as well be permanently attached.

Quinn's drunk, but she's not drunk enough for this.

* * *

_Please review!_


	56. This Is Me, Missing You

_A/N: Little Artina-friendship-y drabble, because I was reading stuff from months ago on _fuckyeahgleeshipsecrets_ on tumblr today and it made me miss them so much. :( Hope you enjoy! (Very short, I know, sorry.)_

* * *

He's smiling – his teeth showing, and his eyes crinkling up at the corners through his glasses – and her heart aches.

Mike's by her side, hand in hers and laughing at something she just said, and she knows that this makes her a terrible person … But he's all that she can focus on, and for a minute she has the overwhelming urge to walk over and apologize until everything's back to normal.

That is, until she remembers that this is _his fault_ in the first place.

God, she's so pathetic, right? She has a wonderful boyfriend who loves her and treats her respectfully, and is _hot_ with capital _A-B-S_ ... but here she is staring mournfully after the guy who spent his summer playing some stupid video game against a terminally ill kid across the country if not the world, ignoring his girlfriend.

She shouldn't think about him so much. And she definitely shouldn't feel a twinge of jealousy in her gut every time Brittany makes him smile like that. (That smile that used to be reserved for her only; for those days where they laid around on his couch or hers, in pajama pants and sweatshirts, watching crappy horror movies and cringe-worthy romantic comedies – _chick flicks_, he'd once called them, before she sent him a couple well-placed glares and a lecture or two on how offensive she found the term.)

Sure, she misses holding hands, and kissing, and laying beside him and knowing that being there with him was where she felt like she most belonged in the world; all those couple-y things that have never felt quite as right as they did with him.

But most of all she just misses being his friend.

* * *

_Please review!_


	57. Karma Coming Back Around

_A/N: I ... can legitimately say that I have no idea where this came from. Angst-y Santana oneshot, set after 2x12_ Silly Love Songs_._

_Hope you enjoy! (And yay, a little bit longer!)_

_

* * *

_

She doesn't _plan_ to be like this; just FYI.

It's not like she sits up at night, planning out insults and comebacks and biding her time until the right moment comes along to use them; (which totally wouldn't be very long if she did, because the Gleeks are beyond clueless when it comes to leaving the perfect opening for ridicule. Once would think they'd have adapted and gotten smarter with time and experience, but they're all still easy targets). But she doesn't. Because a) _she has a fucking life_, and b) she's not that cruel … intentionally.

It's just that she sits in Glee club, listening to all those losers whine on and on about how much their lives suck, and how much everybody else should feel sorry for them; she watches people butt in line for a chance at the spotlight, as though anything they do in this fucking school in going to make a difference once they graduate and head out into the real world. As if singing a song together when everyone feels like crap is going to make rainbows shoot across the sky, and they're not going to go back to feeling like crap as soon as the music fades away and they break formation.

But life just doesn't work like that; it's a bitch, and stupid pansy-ass things like breaking out into song like some musical aren't going to change the world. Any of these punks want to do that, they should get off their butts and go _do something_ besides singing melancholy ballads about what they wish they could change, and upbeat pop numbers when something has gone right or they're feeling empowered (not that it ever lasts long).

She rolls her eyes and feels the resentment and disbelief well up inside of her, and before she knows what's going on she's using nicknames even _she_ thinks are dumb for no reason than to be painfully insulting, and holding her head high like she's better than everyone else there. (Maybe she is, for all they know. But it doesn't matter.)

Usually they bow their heads (Artie, Finn, Tina, Mike), or mutter behind her back (Puck, Kurt), or roll their eyes (Quinn, Lauren), or get misty-eyed (mostly Man-Hands); but they take it, and they deal and things move on. Mr. Schue reprimands her half-heartedly because he's obligated to, or some shit like that, but nothing comes of it. Ten minutes later she's telling RuPaul how much she couldn't care less about a single SAT-vocabulary word falling from her oversized lips, and the cycle starts again.

But this time's different. This time Quinn gets it into her head to start a different ball rolling; one where, instead of pushing it forward like she always does, Santana's actually running in the other direction, trying to keep her cool while not getting socially flattened into a pancake.

Naturally, everyone jumps on the bandwagon; cowards, no one daring to make the first move, but practically elbowing each other just to get a word in. It hurts more than she'll ever admit, even while she's crying to Brittany on the floor of the school hallway. (God, have they really sunken to? And to believe that just last year she'd been the head cheerleader.) Maybe she deserves it; or maybe it really did go too far. But it makes her feel more like crap than she does on a day-to-day basis, and she wonders for the first time since freshman year if this is how she's been making people feel since then. (She's not sure that she can deal with knowing it is.)

She doesn't try to be a horrible person.

But she definitely doesn't try hard enough _not_ to be one.

* * *

_Please review!_


	58. No More

_A/N: Major life drama, guys! Came out of nowhere and hit me upside the head :S. What has it been, like a month now? MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES!_

_This is a little rough, but I'm still getting back into the groove. Written in second person from Santana's POV, set after 'Sexy'. (OMGGGG! What an ep, right? And don't even get me started on 'Original Song'; I was squeeing like the fangirl I am!)_

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Brittany reaches out to you, and you just want to scoff at her.

Your vocal chords don't get the memo, though, and all you can do is choke back a sob as you turn and walk away.

Screw this shit. Screw her. Screw Artie, screw Sam; screw every fucking person on this planet.

_This_ is why you leave emotions at the door and refuse to let them rule you. Because once they have the power to, they ruin you. They make you feel like crap, and they make it impossible to pretend that everything's fine. Once you let emotions into a relationship, it's practically a guarantee that everything's going to go to hell. The universe has never been a fan of yours, and karma's a fucking _bitch_, isn't it?

You agreed to talk to Ms. Holliday about your problems; you agreed to own up to your feelings. You allowed yourself _to_ feel something. And the minute you spill all of that Brittany, she stomps on your cold little heart with the careful, purposeful step only a dancer has.

She's just such an innocent, isn't she? So innocent that ever when she's being a bitch it's alright, because it's not like she's trying to hurt anyone; she probably doesn't even know she's doing. But you think that this is worse than any deliberately mean thing you've ever said or done; the fact that she really doesn't get it makes it so much harder to accept.

You _can't_ accept it, period.

But you can go home, cry your tears, and put your bitch face back on for tomorrow; because you've given vulnerability a shot, and it sucked.

* * *

_Please review!_


	59. About Time To Move On

_A/N: A remember Cherry being requested by _gleek06216 _before my uncanny fandom-hiatus, so this is for you! Mostly hinted at, but I hope you enjoy!_

_(Drabble is from Rachel's POV, and the 'he' referenced at the beginning is Finn.)_

* * *

She knows he cares.

Quinn would call her delusional (and has), but mostly just because she's too afraid to admit to herself that it's the truth even though she can see it too. It's there, in the way he looks at her; in the hallway, in classes, but mostly when she's singing. She knows, because it's the look he gave her when they were dating; the look he got whenever he held her close and said _I love you_.

She's not sure that he knows it, though. On some level he must realize that he still has feelings for her, feelings that go deeper than the ones he has for Quinn. And at one point just knowing that much would have been enough for her. Because she truly believed that if you loved someone, it would work out. (You'd think she'd have learned earlier that such isn't so, especially with her love of musicals; so many don't have what you'd call a happy ending for its lovers.

It's not enough anymore, though. She loves him, but she's sick of waiting for him to come around. She's not going to waste these years that are supposed to be the best of her life pining after one person. She's already wasted one-and-a-half of them, but that ends here and now.

In the choir room, crushed in a group hug of which she's the centre, knowing they're going on to Nationals and Glee club is safe (for another year, at least), she thinks it might not be so hard. Sure, her heart feels a little hollow, and it's not going to be _easy_ per se …

Mike's arms wrap around her from behind and he swings her around, his breath tickling her ear, his laughter sweet as he puts her back down, and he whispers, "You rock, Rach; you know that?" His arms stay around her, and they just feel sort of _right_. Friendly with just a little something more, but something that doesn't need to be developed yet; that can just remain there underneath, as nothing more than a faint possibility until they're both ready.

… But she thinks that with a little help, with his help, she can do it. She can get over Finn Hudson and call her life her own again.

She kind of can't wait to get started, actually.

* * *

_Please review!_


	60. Dear Pt 1: Matthew

_A/N: This one was written because I adore dear Mattie, and I still find my heart panging with loss whenever he isn't there jamming out in the choir room. And because Rachel is my go-to; and because she'd totally write letters and send them snail mail because it's more dramatic that way; and because they'd be awesome as friends; and because she'd totally call him 'Matthew' no matter how many times he told her it was just 'Matt'._

_Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Dear Matthew,

How is upstate New York treating you? I am still jealous, I'm not going to lie; you are not actually in the _City_, but you're closer than I am and I can't help but begrudge you that.

Sometimes I can taste it, you know? Like it is right there on the edge of my fingertips, so close and so _reachable_ … and then other times it feels a million miles away, like I'm never going to get there. Jesse said it was inevitable, did you know that? Before the lies and the scandal and the fallout, he always made that clear – that I'm going to be a star.

I wish I still believed that.

I have a penchant for droning on about myself in the letters I write to you, don't I? I apologize, naturally; it's just hard for me to remember sometimes that it's rude and pretentious to do so. You don't mind terribly, do you? I don't have anyone else to talk to, really, so I feel like these letters have been good for me – a way to let it all out, in a sense, to process everything happening around me.

Just tell me if you're sick of it, though, and I'll stop.

How are things with you? How's Meaghan's arm doing? Did she decide on the pink or green cast? I remember when I broke my heel when I was younger I chose the bright pink cast, because it matched more of my clothes. And possible just because pink is such a pretty color.

How does Larndale High compare to McKinley? I hope for your sake that it's better; though goodness knows it wouldn't take much to be.

We miss you. I miss you. Sometimes in the choir room, when we're just jamming around and having fun, I'll twirl around and expect you to be right there, smiling and singing and dancing and laughing … it still feels wrong to be there, especially up on stage, without you.

You were an original New Directions; don't forget that. Those kinds of things are for life, no matter where one ends up.

Lots of love,

Rachel Berry *

* * *

_Please review!_


	61. NYU

_A/N: I think you all know that I'm not really a finchel fan; I'll always fly my ships with Puckleberry flags hoisted up high, because the two of them together just make sense to me._

_But finchel has been intriguing me a little as of late. I don't like the way they're being written on the show in the current circumstances, but I feel like in another universe maybe they could make a little sense too. This drabble is a little pointless and odd, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. It's from Finn's POV._

_Sorry for it's delay in coming, as always!_

* * *

He's been hearing it, in some form or another, for years now. From well-meaning people who should really just _mind their own business_, from people he cares about and respects, from his friends … A couple weeks ago Quinn pretty much summed it all up when she was trying to convince him that they should get back together (disrespecting the fact that he's _in a relationship right now_ and not on the market).

_You're going to hold her back from all of her dreams, Finn. And long distance relationships just _don't_ work out, so stop kidding yourself. Is that really what you want?_

Her words echoed on and off in his head for the better part of three weeks, an unfortunate ring of truth to them every time they played. He loves Rachel; he wants to be with her for the rest of his life – even though that thought terrifies him, he knows it's the truth too. But he knows she's worth so much more than a dead end future in small-town Ohio, and he doesn't think he's going to make it to the city life of New York.

He doesn't want to keep her from the life she's wanted ever since she could understand what performing was.

He thinks about it hard, for a really long time. Sees flashes of lights, and veils, and flowers, and baby name books, the entire future with her he'd been unconsciously planning … sees it all right within his grasp, and forces himself to push to it away.

He's already mourning the loss of an eternity spent with her when he gets the letter. With an NYU symbol in the top corner, it's thick with paper inside of it but he's still a little afraid of opening it. He'd given up on hearing back from them a month ago; had almost forgotten by now that he'd even taken the chance in applying. It's got to be a rejection, right? That's why it took so long coming.

He glances around even though he's home alone, and tears the paper off quickly to get it out of the way. He's too shocked to think about much other than the word _accepted_ printed neatly in the first sentence of the letter.

Huh … maybe he'll make it out of this town and get to keep the girl of his dreams after all.

* * *

_Please review!_


	62. Seeing You Around

_A/N: Some Sam-Angst; his thoughts on Quinn, and Santana too I guess._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He sees her around far more often than he'd like.

When they were dating, the overlap in their schedules was convenient. He'd walk her to classes, sit beside her in the few they shared (she was mostly in AP classes and he definitely wasn't, but they shared study hall and Civics) … but now it's so much more of a burden. He has to pretend she isn't there; has to slump down in a seat beside some dude who smells homeless; has to avert his eyes in the hallway because if he has to watch her make out with Finn in front of her locker he might just puke.

Rebounds were supposed to make people feel better, right? That's what he always thought. But spending Santana, apart from the making out which is awesome, mostly just makes him feel like crap. She's smoking hot and has a pretty sweet taste in music, but she's always insulting everyone … including him; _especially_ him, actually.

(Like, 'Trouty Mouth'? What the hell even _was_ that, anyway?)

He sees her around. And every time he does, it's like someone's stabbing him in the chest with a knife.

Maybe that'd even be bearable, he thinks, if it seemed like she still cared at all.

* * *

_Please review!_


	63. Already Gone

_A/N: Finally! I've been absolutely in love with Kurt&Blaine since _Never Been Kissed_ but I haven't been able to write anything with them. Even this isn't really shippy; it's Kurt-centric. But I managed! Yay!_

_Written in second person about Kurt._

_Set an undisclosed amount of time after _Original Song_. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

You're beginning to live for the scraps of news you get from your conversations with Mercedes and Rachel; you're like an addict, and your drug of choice is anything to do with New Directions.

You don't know when it got so bad. You missed them like crazy after your transfer, but things got – minutely – easier over time. You have Blaine, after all; you're not alone by any means. All the Warblers like you enough, you suppose. But there's something missing … Dalton isn't home to your family. It's not really where you belong.

"Mercedes texted me last night," Blaine says, and you look up from your Chemistry textbook with an eyebrow raised. _Since when do Mercedes and Blaine text each other?_ "She told me about – you know … how Karofsky came out and transferred."

Oh. You knew that, of course. She told you last week right after it happened, when no one was really sure yet what had happened; when they just knew that he was gone, and she's kept you updated with every piece of additional information she discovered. It's been all you could think about for days now; seemingly always on the forefront of your mind.

"You're going back, aren't you."

The words are quiet, but there's no higher-pitched inflection at the end; it's not a question, not really.

It's not like Karofsky's the only thing you were running from. You were running from a mindset, from a widespread belief that somehow you're worth less than the people around you; from a violent mentality that was too insecure to handle your confidence and personality. Karofsky was only the final straw; the solid excuse to finally escape a place that continually kicked you when you were down. He was the accumulation of everything you couldn't – and still can't – stand about small-town Ohio.

But there are still twelve people who walk those halls every day who manage, most of the time, to balance the scales. Who treat you with as much as respect as they're capable of giving anyone, and who you're proud to think of as your family.

Dalton's been your safe haven; your refuge in a time of need.

But it's not your home the way it is – or at least had been – for Blaine.

It was a stepping stone; an idealistic fantasy world on your way back to the real one. It's never really been a question, you suppose. Blaine must have known that.

You look at the boy sitting at the foot of your bed, hair unusually gel-free, and almost wish that the circumstances could be different.

"Yeah," you choke out, past a lump in your throat at the thought of leaving the boy you love, but with a steady resolve. "I am."

* * *

_Please review!_


	64. Poorly Prepared Goodbyes

_A/N: Another sad one. I'm good at that, aren't I? Don't know why most of the things I write are so depressing ... Anyways, this is in second person about Tina. And it's Tartie based, because I as much as I absolutely _love _Tina/Mike in the here and now, I'll always feel like Tina/Artie is meant to go beyond high school; just because._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_-o-o-_

You're not sure where all the time went.

One minute you were walking across the McKinley stage, diploma in hand … and the next, summer is ending and real life is about to start.

You're not ready. You're excited to be leaving this place, but at the same time your heart gets caught in your throat whenever you think about your packed suitcases and your pre-ordered textbooks. Senior year is supposed to be about looking towards and preparing for the future, but you don't feel any more ready for any of this than you were freshman year. One second you're trying to pass high school exams, and the next you're stumbling out in the real world and attempting to find your bearings.

You'd thought you'd have more time this summer; to spend with him. (You ended things with Mike before graduation, but only a month ago did you work up the nerve to make amends and choke out those three little words to him.)

Now he's standing there – or sitting, rather (ouch, bad choice of terminology) – and it's like no time has gone by at all. A month to spend with the person you love is like seconds in the grand scheme of things. Now Artie's leaving for the University of Chicago to get his Bachelor of the Arts in Music, and you're heading to NYU for a degree in the Performing Arts. You'll still be in the same country, but after living in the same town all your lives it feels like you're about to be a world apart.

Tears roll down your cheeks freely, and you wish you could say "See you soon," but it's a nearly fourteen-hour drive from Chicago to New York City and you know logically that it may be Thanksgiving before you're in his arms again.

You're both willing to make long distance work, you have to be … but his 'I love you' sounds too much like the 'goodbye' it really is, and you can hardly stand it anymore.

"I love you," you whisper back, hunched over slightly as you wrap your arms around him and lean your head on his shoulder.

No planning or college prep has prepared you for this.

_-o-o-_

_Please review!_


	65. Maybe One Day

_Disclaimer (decided I should throw another one of these in here somewhere): I do not own Glee, as much as I wish I did._

_A/N: This episode, you guys ... "Born This Way" ... just, wow. No other words._

_This is in 2nd person, Santana POV, after tonight's episode, named above._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

It's not fair – the way your heart pounds and aches in your chest as you watch her walk away from you. But life isn't fair, and you know this.

If life were fair, people wouldn't let you get away with all the terrible things you say. If life were fair, you wouldn't be standing here holding back tears behind your icy demeanor and clutching a white polyester shirt in your hands. If life were fair Brittany wouldn't be falling down into Artie's lap at the end of the hall, kissing him, and rolling away from you for the millionth time.

If life were fair, you wouldn't be using Dave Karofsky as a beard – and vice versa – and you wouldn't be afraid to kiss the girl you love in the middle of the cafeteria and ask her to prom.

But it isn't, and it won't be.

You can strut around pretending to be a good girl, wearing a cheap red beret and telling people like Azimio that their cruel ways aren't going to be tolerated anymore, but it's not going to change the world.

Maybe one day things will get better. Maybe Karofsky will be able to accept himself; maybe slushies will stop being thrown in your faces. Maybe one day you'll be able to don this black-text-adorned t-shirt and strut down the hallways of McKinley wearing _it_ without being afraid of what people will think and say about you.

That day is not today.

(You did however manage to pull it on in the April Rhodes Auditorium, at the very least, if not in the real world … and that's progress, right?)

But maybe one day you _will_ be strong enough to announce to the people around you that you are, in fact, "Lebanese".

Maybe.

* * *

_Please review!_


	66. Getting Sh't Done

_A/N: Warning for profanity, as this is written in second person from Puck's POV. Set after _Born This Way_, which I am still epically squeeing over because seriously, it was awesome._

_For the purpose of this drabble, Lauren kind of doesn't exist. I love a lot of things about her character, but this contains hints of my Puckleberry shipper heart and it's just easier if there is no Zizes in the picture._

_Hope you enjoy, even though it's short and maybe odd._

_-o-o-_

You are getting so fucking sick and tired of Finn Hudson and his antics.

Dude walks around the like he owns the place, full of dumb questions and injuring people left and right with his atrocious dancing skill (or lack thereof). Aren't drummers supposed to have good rhythm? Damn.

He thinks he can just waltz around pulling Rachel behind him like a string: telling her that she's beautiful the way she is, and then turning back around to his _girlfriend_ and leaving Rachel in the dust … Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

You may very well be a delinquent; and a Lima Loser; and insensitive; and often an asshole. But you take care of the people you care about, and you get shit _done_. You convinced Rachel to meet up with you; you recruited Kurt for the Barbra-vention; you showed Berry that she's awesome just the way she is (Jewish-ness withstanding); and you managed to stealthily evade mall security – and disperse the crowds – when they were informed of the situation.

You can talk the talk just as good as Hudson can; and when it comes down to it, at the end of the day, you can actually walk the fucking walk.

_-o-o-_

_Please review!_


	67. Confused

_A/N: This one's pretty rough guys, not even going to lie :S_

_But what did you think about the last two episodes? They both had their ups and downs for me, but overall I think I really enjoyed them._

_Hope you enjoy this drabble! (It's from Brittany's POV; in case it's not clear right away.)_

* * *

She's still a little confused.

About, you know ... _everything_.

Artie has always been super nice to her; he treats her with respect, and he cares about her, and he's never made her feel like she's stupid. She's sure that he's never even thought that about her. Not until yesterday, anyway. Yesterday was bad.

She's still not sure whether what she's been doing with Santana is wrong or not. Santana tells her it isn't, but Artie sure seems to think it is and he's really upset about it. But then he called her stupid, and it didn't matter to her what was wrong or right because _she can't believe he would call her stupid_. He was the only person who had never called her that.

And then there's Santana.

She doesn't know what to say about what's been going on with her and San. The Latina told her she loves her; sang to her; promised to go on _Fondue for Two_ with her so they could both reveal their sexualities …

But then she went and told Jacob Ben Israel that she and Karofsky are in love, and that really hurt Brittany for two reasons: because she hates seeing San pretend to be someone she's not, and because she thought that San was in love with her.

She doesn't know what to think anymore.

All she knows is that she's alone for the first time in a long time, and that the two people she cares most about in the world (besides Lord Tubbington) aren't there anymore.

Where did she go wrong?


	68. She Belongs Here

_A/N: This is just a little Future!Puckleberry drabble, because I was in the mood for it. I hope you enjoy!_

_-o-o-o-_

Puck's still not too sure.

He'd thought that anywhere besides Lima, Ohio would be a heaven on Earth. And New York is definitely a whole lot different than Lima. He'd liked it, a lot, two years ago when Glee had come for Nationals, but they were just tourists then in a big city. Living here is a whole different experience. City that never sleeps is right; and the air still feels wrong to be breathing into his lungs.

It's a slow coming adjustment, that's for sure.

There are no connections here. There's no favorite pizza place to call on Friday night; a few too many coffee shops just on his block to choose from in the morning; no buddy's place to hang out at on Sunday afternoon, sipping beer and watching the football game. All of his friends live a few hours' drive at closest, a seven hour plane ride at farthest.

But she's here.

She _belongs_ here.

If he wasn't sure before when he had to watch her struggle with the suffocating boundaries of their home town, he's sure of it now. It's plain to see in every breath she breathes; the way she smiles, looking up at the stars, and links her arm through his as they stroll down ever-busy streets still getting their bearings.

It's in the way she manages to shine on stage at every single seedy bar and uncaring coffee house she performs at.

This – all of it – is just so very _Rachel Berry_.

So what if maybe he isn't too sure that he belongs in New York City. What he does know is that he belongs with her: in their tiny loft apartment, waking up beside her, and sitting in the audience every for every single gig she manages to get her hands on …

And that just happens to be here.


	69. He'll Be Going Back

_A/N: I know, guys. I know. *sigh* Just as soon as my muse returns, schoolwork kicks into hyper drive. But guess what? After exams next week, I'll have a plethora of free time with which to write. I can taste it, I swear. I cannot apologize enough._

_Anyways, here's a drabble set after the season 2 finale from Kurt's POV._

_-o-o-o-_

Lima Ohio sucks. There's no denying that.

It's full to the brim with brittle, ignorant, judgemental, narrow-minded simpletons who go about their lives with the same standards and stereotypes taught to them by generations before. They accept things as they are and never challenge the status quo, because what could possibly be wrong with a system that's been working for decades?

He obviously wasn't meant to be wasted upon such a cow town.

He has culture, and talent, and aspirations that far surpass the county limits that mark the physical boundaries of his childhood.

Kurt Hummel is going places; he knows this, with every fibre of his being. He can feel it, straight through to his very core, with every breath of the unclean city air, looking up at the wonders of New York City.

This is where he belongs. Luckily, he's always known that. It's impossible to say how he would have fared under the constant derision and cruelty if he hadn't been so confident in his knowledge of the future.

They didn't win. They didn't place near the top. And maybe for some of them, this trip was in vain.

But he's Kurt Hummel, and with or without a National Show Choir Championship Trophy, he'll be coming back here one day.

And that's more than enough.


	70. It Just Didn't Work Out

_A/N: Back again, after a much shorter break. This installment: a healthy dose of one my fav characters, Mike Chang. An angst-y one, but not _dark_ angst-y. Just ... I don't know; teen-drama-angst-y?_

_Anyways, I hope you enjoy!_

_Coming up (hopefully) next: Samchel, by request! I promise, I am on it; I'm just having some difficulty setting up the scene I want to write._

* * *

He so doesn't want to be here.

Mike doesn't like school in general, and McKinley has always managed to be just that little bit more unbearable than he can stand on a bad day. Especially now, on the first day of his senior year, standing at his locker and watching Tina smile as she stands with her elbows resting on the handles of Artie's wheelchair.

He's not stupid. He knew this was inevitable.

It's just that ... last year was so awesome. He was so happy, and she was happy … and sure, they had a few problems, but compared to all the other crap going on with the rest of the New Directions relationships, their year was practically sunshine and rainbows.

He ended up deluding himself into thinking that maybe they could last all the way to the end of high school, at least.

That had come crashing down around him exactly thirteen days into summer vacation when she showed up his doorstep, chewing on her bottom lip the way she only did when there was something serious weighing on her mind. He knew what was happening the moment she met his eyes despite the fact that he'd answered the door shirtless. _This just … you rock, and I love you, but I think I deluded myself into thinking that I was _in_ love with you too, and – well, I don't think I am. I'm so sorry, Mike. But this relationship isn't going to work out._

If there's any one thing he's learned about her above all else in the time he's known her, it's that she doesn't make decisions lightly. (When coming to conclusions, yes; but she's always very sure about her decisions.)

He'd smiled wryly at the time, because as much as he had deluded himself he'd still known that one day it would come. _I wish it didn't have to end_, he'd mumbled, before saying more clearly: _I love you, T. Always. Don't forget that._

And that had been that.

He almost wishes that she and Artie had jumped into a relationship so he could be angry … but he has to hand it to them. They hadn't been seen in public together until the last two weeks of summer, and are still very clearly in the '_just friends_' stage – not that anyone has any misconceptions of where that rekindled friendship is headed.

He bites the inside of his cheek, holding in both a sigh and a grimace before closing his locker door and walking to his first period calculus class.

(So does not want to be here.)


	71. Not Cut Out For This

_A/N: So... There's not actually any Samchel in this installment; not really. But the ending does hint at the beginnings of a friendship; and I do plan to continue it, or at least expand it in a form that's not directly related. Anyways, to the Samchel requester, I hope you like this anyway!_

* * *

He's not sure how cut out for this he really is.

Sure, they're his siblings and even though they annoy the hell out of him sometimes, he loves them to death. But at times like this – when he has a Math and an English exam to worry about for the next two days, and Stevie's fumbling through his own homework, and Stacy's curled up on the bed, upset because two of her friends were talking behind her back and had shunned her from their group at lunch – he's pretty sure that he's not prepared to handle this on his own.

Sure, he's mature and responsible, but he's still just a seventeen year old kid struggling with a part time job and taking care of his little brother and sister whenever he's not at work or school.

He'll always do whatever he needs to do to look out for, and take care of, his family; no question. But lately it's just been so _hard_.

Right now he's trying to figure out what Stevie's homework is asking him to do so he can help him do it, already having failed to comfort Stacy at all, while his review sheets lay abandoned on top of his guitar case. He has almost accepted his impending failures on the exams when there's a knock on the door.

Stacy sniffles and rolls over, removing her face from view, and Stevie chews heavily on his bottom lip as Sam pushes himself up from his crouched position to get the door. His own brow furrows, lips pursing slightly as he considers the scant possibilities. Mom or Dad wouldn't knock unless they'd forgotten a room key, which they were careful not to; Miss Jenkins from next door didn't have reason for a noise complaint at the moment; Quinn's visits had dwindled, and she was up in Maine visiting her Aunt in any case; and Kurt had said he wouldn't be by until Friday to baby sit during an extra shift Sam had managed picked up delivering pizzas.

In the short walk from the table to the doorway, he hadn't come up with many other possible visitors. But even if he had, his surprise would still have been genuine.

Because he never would have anticipated seeing the face of Rachel Berry, with a shy smile alight on her face, standing in the small motel doorway.


	72. What Is In A Reflection

_A/N: This is an angst-y Quinn drabble. Basically, it's me trying to make sense of her this season. Because there is so much about this girl that I just _do not get_, at all._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

This has become a habit of hers, Quinn thinks.

Every time life throws something at her, she reacts with all the grace of an elephant and all the planning and maturity of a pre-pubescent boy. Then, when she makes a mistake, she holds her head high and tries to carry on like nothing's wrong. Like, _No, she's not pregnant, thank you very much, she just ate a big lunch_. Or, _Of course she's not cheating on Sam! That CPR saved Finn's life, and mono was a small price to pay_.

And at the end of the day, when she goes home to a barren house and locks herself in her room, she has no choice but to wallow in her own selfish misery.

She doesn't know what's become of her life. She doesn't know where along the line a poorly-plated crown with fake jewels and little real meaning became more important than any of the people around her. She doesn't know when she got so damn _unhappy_. She doesn't know when she became such a basket case that Rachel Berry bothers to stick around after being slapped in the face and fix her make-up for her.

She doesn't know when she lost Finn for good; all she does know is that the conversation in the truck in the funeral home parking lot was a long overdue one.

She's looked in the mirror a lot in her lifetime. When she was younger it was always with disdain and embarrassment. After moving to Lima, it was with personal pride and the praise of her parents. Last year, it was almost always done sideways with a constant contemplation of everything that had led to her situation.

But now, for the first time, she doesn't recognize who the girl staring back at her is. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the haircut.


	73. Dear Pt 2: Matthew

_A/N: This a sequel to _Dear Pt 1: Matthew_, drabble 60 of this collection. Only just got around to writing it, haha, but I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Dear Rachel (*),

I can always trust you for a laugh, you know that?

Now, don't take that the wrong way. I can see you sitting there reading this, with that offended look on your face because you are _quite serious whenever I speak, thank you, and I do not appreciate being seen as a _joke. Believe me, Rach, I know. And I always take you seriously when you talk, because you almost never say anything that you don't truly mean.

No, it's just that your letters never fail to make me laugh at _me_.

Because I keep forgetting that there's anyone back in Lima who actually gives a damn that I'm gone, besides you and Mike. And you know Mike; he's a little too feather-brained to remember to drop his best friend a live every now and again, you know? But then you ramble on about your future, and Glee club, always making sure to touch on _every single point_ of the letter you're responding to … And I really feel like I could be back there again, only instead of absorbing your words firsthand I have to read them from a page and imagine your voice in my head.

Believe me, I _wish_ I was back there, jamming out to the latest Top 40 jam with you, and Mike, and Brit and everyone. I wish I was in the choir room, prepping for a competition the day before we perform … standing backstage and feeling that rush before every single entrance … rolling my eyes every five minutes during another unproductive practice where people are either bitching at each other or gabbing about the latest star.

(Oh. Oops. I know, language, sorry. But I'm writing this in pen, I don't have any white-out, and I'm way too lazy right now to get up, get a new piece of paper, and copy down everything I just wrote, so I'll just leave the b word in there. You _know_ it's true, anyway.)

All this year I kept telling myself that I would get back there – that I'd find a way. But let's be realistic; we're heading into our senior year of high school now. A few more months, really, in the grand scheme of things, and we'll be graduates. I'm not coming back to Lima, Rach. So you're just going to have to make your written applications memorable and nail your auditions for Julliard and NYU, because I won't be able to afford rent in the City unless you're there to split it with me; deal?

Keep shining, Rachel, like you already do.

Love,

Just Matt


	74. Buns and Ballet Slippers

_A/N: A cute little drabble based around a scene I've been picturing in my head for a few months. It's from Puck's POV about him and his little sister, who I've name Dani for the purposes of this drabble._

_This seems like a good time to mention that I do not own Glee in any way, shape, of form. All rights belong to ... their rightful owners, whoever in particular they may be. I'm simply borrowing the characters for the sake of writing._

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Puck's little sister's a pain in the ass.

Seriously, sometimes he wonders if she was put on Earth with the solitary mission of annoying the hell out of him.

He has to spend half of his free-time babysitting her while their mom works double-shift after double-shift at the hospital, and she's definitely not one of those kids you can leave happily to their own devices. She totally lacks the ability to entertain herself for even the shortest amount of time. She always needs to _be_ somewhere, _doing_ something, _with_ someone … and that someone is most often – you guessed it – him.

She's so hyper and action-driven that sitting on one of the fold-out chairs lining the tiny, cluttered hallway of Lima's only dance studio, with all the rug-rats' moms, on Tuesday and Thursday nights from seven to eight is actually more of a reprieve than the torture he pretends it is.

Dance isn't exactly his thing. Sure, he picks up the choreography in Glee faster than most of the guys – though that doesn't mean much, considering the fact that he's up against Sam and Finn – but he'd choose strumming his guitar and singing over dancing any day. And even if he was into dancing, he's pretty sure that the things they're doing in his nine-year-old sister's dance class aren't exactly doing the whole institution justice.

But he sits there, alternating between counting ceiling tiles and peeking into the mirror-lined room where Dani's twirling and jumping a little unsteadily alongside the rest of her class. And when she runs out afterward, her winter boots looking very out of place over her tights and her hair starting to fall out of the bun he still has immense trouble trying to form twice a week, eyes sparkling the way Brittany's do after a rehearsal or a performance, it barely takes any effort at all to paint a grin on his face to match her own.

"Did you see me?" she enquires anxiously every time, smile slipping for a fraction of a second, desperate to know whether or not he's been paying attention.

"_Yeah_, I saw you," he always responds – even on the days when he zoned out and has no idea which part she's referring to – rubbing her hair a little bit and nudging her playfully as he stands up and takes her slipper bag. Sometimes he'll whisper casually, "You're the best one in there, you know," winking when her face turns pink but she preens, delighted at the attention and praise.

Maybe it's exaggerating the truth and raising her expectations; maybe she tends to step on the wrong beats, and falls over a noticeable bit more than everyone else. But he doubts any of her prissy, stuck-up classmates are doing schoolwork two grade levels above their own, or can throw a perfect spiral, so what_ever_.

Yeah, Dani's a total pain in the ass. But he's her big brother, and she's _his_ pain in the ass.

He can see the way she pushes herself to be good at things; he can see the way she desperately looks to him for approval whenever mom can't be around to kiss her on the forehead and tell her that she's proud of her. It falls to him to let her know that he's proud of her, especially at a time like this when prices are increasing and bills are stacking up and mom's doing everything she can to support them on her own.

And he _is_ proud of her; he always has been.

But lately he's realized how important it is to make sure she always knows that.


	75. Not Like I Do

_A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I decided to go through a bunch of my bookmarked prompts on the PR Drabble Meme. This one stood out to me: _"He doesn't love you like I love you."_ So, I present to you in these early hours of the morning, more Puck - only this time with Rachel!_

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Neither one of them is exactly sure how it happened.

There was no slow transition from whatever they were, to whatever they are now. It's like one day Puck was calling her to ask about their calculus homework – when he realized that if he wanted to graduate, he was actually going to have to attend math class – and the next they were hanging out twice a week. They studied and watched movies, and they talked on the phone whenever one of them – usually Rachel – needed to vent.

"He's just … I don't … ugh. It's not even that we're not on the same page anymore; it's as though we're on different books, in different languages."

Sometimes he has trouble following her metaphors, but he knows what she's trying to get at. "Finn's a dumbass, Rach. He's forgetful, and he just doesn't understand you. It's no wonder you two are always fighting about petty things."

"I am _not_, petty, Noah Puckerman, I'll have you know" –

"Right, not petty," he corrects, thankful that they're on the phone so she can't see his eye roll. He knows better than to let her rant in her pissed-and-irrational voice. Her rationally-indignant rants actually make sense and are reasonable, but he doesn't let her get very far into an irrational state anymore because nothing good ever comes of it. "Honestly, I don't understand why you and Finn are even still together." He mumbles that part, but apparently not enough because she still hears every word.

"He loves me, Noah," and damn it, why did she have to come around to this side of the argument so quickly? Usually she's pissed at Finn for a couple of hours before she remembers the 'he loves me, so that makes everything else okay' argument.

"Maybe that was a good excuse the first, second … or hell, even _third_ time the two of you dated, but seriously, Rach? Have you noticed that you always justify not breaking up with him by saying that _he_ loves _you_; never that _you_ love _him_?"

A couple of months ago he probably wouldn't have even made the distinction. But he's been spending a lot of time with her, and he knows enough at this point to know that that minor distinction is actually _really fucking important_.

There's silence on her end of the line for a few moments, and he closes his eyes, hoping for the hundredth time that she'll wake up and realize what's been right in front of her for weeks.

"I have to go now; Daddy's calling me for dinner."

From anyone else, that would be a total blow-off. But coming from Rachel, he doesn't doubt for a second that it's the truth.

"I know you and Finn have had your problems … but he _does_ love me, Noah. I know he does." Her voice is quiet, and he wants to ask who she's trying to convince; him, or herself? But he doesn't.

His chest feels oddly tight, and his voice comes out sounding a little choked when he admits, "He doesn't love you like I love you."

But he hears the dial tone, and she's already gone.

* * *

_Please review!_


	76. To Feel or Not to Feel

_A/N: Okay, so ... whenever I try to write anything with Puck and Quinn, it comes out totally dysfunctional and angst-y. Like, bordering-on-dangerous-dysfunctional-and-angsty-y. But I actually like how this one turned out, so I'm sharing it with you here._

_I hope you ... 'enjoy' seems like a wrong word, considering the drabble, but you know what I mean._

* * *

It's fucked up, and he knows it.

They have a history. They have a history, which includes a daughter he hasn't seen since the day she was born, will never see again, and a failed attempt at a relationship, including him telling her that he loved her and her leaving him flat on his ass because she couldn't deal with the past anymore.

People with histories like that can't _do_ this. Except they have, and they are, and they will.

Her nails dig into his shoulder blades, leaving raised red marks but drawing no blood. Her lips are bruising against his, his hands barely a feather touch on her waist, her hips, and her back. The same way she needs to be rough, he needs to be gentle. She's doing this all to forget, for the numbness it will bring. He's doing it to prove a point – to himself, if to no one else. He needs to feel like he's _capable_; he needs to feel like one day he'll be more than just a screw up, and one day maybe he'll deserve something more than this. But for now he just needs to _feel_.

He doesn't know which one is more dangerous; more message up. On the one hand, she's having rough sex with the guy who got her pregnant last year so she doesn't have to feel anything. On the other, he's desperately trying to prove – to a girl who mothered his child but can't even speak more than two words to him at a time – that he _can_ feel something … anything.

They shouldn't do this again; they can't.

But next Sunday, she's going to come home from church feeling inadequate and hypocritical. She'll text him, just a few words, like _come here_, and he will, even though he knows that this is so past unhealthy it's not even funny.

And as fucked up and dysfunctional as it, he'll try to complete the impossible task of proving himself to her.

* * *

_Oh, and a quick shout-out to everyone reading and reviewing. Seriously, you guys are the reason I manage to keep coming back to this. Your feedback means the world to me! Thank you so, so much!_


	77. Rule of Thumb

_A/N: Another PR drabble meme prompt, cross-posted there. From Puck's POV. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Rule of thumb for living with Rachel Berry: avoid epic freak-outs at _all costs_.

Seriously, he's not even kidding. He totally loves all her crazy (if he didn't, there's no way he'd have survived in a relationship with her for this long, after all), but even he has a limit. There's a point where her speeches become rants and her tone reaches dangerously high decibels, and more than a few times he's learned the hard way that it's a hell of a lot easier for her to get worked up than it is to get her to come back down.

There are things that have caused medium-sized blow-ups in the past: stupid things like him buying a new toaster that apparently 'doesn't match the rest of the kitchen' (and fuck, he thought stainless steel was supposed to go with anything); or him forgetting that his mother was coming to town (more like him subconsciously blocking out the horror from his mind); or him accidentally setting the kitchen in their New York City flat on fire (stupid fucking toaster) …

But then there are more serious matters, and that's when the Rachel Berry rant surpasses ten on the Richter scale.

If there's one thing Rachel takes seriously besides their relationship, it her career.

Right now she's pacing the floor (he swears that one day she's going to wear a path right through the hardwood into Mrs. Ballenger's apartment below them with all the pacing she does on a weekly basis), jabbering on about something some tight-ass casting director told her at an audition this morning. Her breathing's speeding up past a point of safety, threatening to become hyperventilation at any moment, he knows.

"I'm not what they're looking for, Noah!" she informs him borderline-hysterically. He blinks, attempting to refocus on the conversation he'd unintentionally zoned out of, but finds that he isn't quite sure exactly what she's talking about anymore. It doesn't matter, though, because she continues without input or prompting, clearly not waiting for a response. "I'm not what _any_ of them are looking for! I haven't gotten a part in eight months, not even in the chorus of an off-off-Broadway production, and the only one I received since we moved here a year and a half ago was as an understudy for an independent show that got terrible reviews! I'm working in a small café that isn't doing well, we're behind on our rent for last month, and … and what if I'm _never_ going to be what any of these directors is looking for?"

Yeah, here comes the hyperventilation. She raises a hand to her face to angrily wipe away forming tears, and that's what finally prompts him to stand. He rests his hands gently but firmly on her shoulders, halting her frantic steps in front of him. She licks her lip, finally speechless after going over a quarter of an hour non-stop. He wishes he knew what the fuck to say.

"If I can't do this, what will I be, Noah?"

And fuck, she sounds so lost and hopeless. After months and months of dead-end auditions and callbacks that always end in disappointment, she's never sounded quite like this before. It's been hard. He's there for her whenever she needs it, but he knows how much it sucks to constantly be told that you're not good enough. Hell, that's how he felt his entire life until he met her.

"You're Rachel _fucking_ Berry," he tells her softly. "That's _who_ you are, and as long as you remember that, it won't matter what you do."

He's never had a way with words; that's her strong suit. But if the way her eyes light up and her lips press eagerly against his are any indication … he's managed to say something right.


	78. She Knows, But Doesn't Always Understand

_A/N: I don't like how this flows, but it is what it is and I've improved it as best as I can._

_It's from Santana's POV, and implies Brittana._

_Also, to _rogue4ever_, who has been asking for a Samchel drabble for longer than I'm proud of: I apologize! I've been trying to write something for them, but every time I do (like today) something else takes over. I promise, however, that one will be coming soon!_

_As always, I'd love to hear what you think. (Even though, thanks to recent changes in the review reply format, I haven't been responding to the ones that I do get. I do still greatly appreciate the ones I get!)_

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Santana knows why she's doing this ... why she feels like she _has_ to do this.

She knows the kinds of things people would say about her if she came out. Not so long ago, she was the one saying them to/about Kurt, only on that other end of the spectrum. The words are different, but the mentality and the ignorance are the same.

She's doing this because in spite of Glee and not being a Cheerio anymore, she's still closer to being on top than most people in her position would be. Part of it comes from respect, more of it comes from fear, but what she knows is that she still _matters_. She still has power.

And more than the title of Head Cheerleader or that fake crown at Prom, having power is what she's always wanted. The title and crown were always just a means to that end: an extension of the power itself. She wants to be on top; she wants to matter.

It's why she she's fake-dating Dave. It's why she couldn't wear the 'Lebanese' shirt on stage, even if she did from the audience. It's why she can't let go of the few shreds of popularity she's still desperately clinging to in the hopes that it will be enough. It's why she can't go on Brittany's web show and tell the world that she likes girls.

She knows this.

Every time she sees Brittany, though – every time she looks into those joyful blue eyes, seemingly always asking the same question without words, it doesn't seem worth it.

She thinks about how she's doing this so she can still be happy, something she's never considered it possible to be from the bottom of the social totem pole.

But every time she looks at her own reflection, searching for a sign of something she can't fully comprehend, and never finding it … she remembers that she _isn't_ happy.

She hasn't been for a long time … not really.


	79. Doesn't Mean A Thing  Does It?

**_Warning:_**_ This drabble holds a strong allusion to a scene of a sexual nature. The act is in no way explicit, but very much present. I ask you to use your own discretion in choosing whether or not to read this drabble, considering whether you're comfortable with it or allowed, depending on your age. _

_A/N: So, this drabble is a little scene I thought up that takes place sometime shortly after Finn and Quinn get back together in season 2, and after Sam finds out that Quinn's been cheating on him. This is from Rachel's POV._

rogue4ever:_ Yay! I finally came up with a Samchel-esque scenario!_

_I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

It doesn't mean anything.

Or at least, that's what she tells herself.

He's hung up on Quinn – and if she weren't so hung up on Finn herself she'd probably spend a fair amount of time despairing over the fact that a year and a half ago, she was in a position similar to this, with a different boy. But she stops that train of thought, because this is a little bit different in a very large way, and she's not entirely ready to accept what's going on at the moment.

Later she can worry. Right now she just wants to _feel_.

She can feel her fluffy duvet beneath her and Sam above her, and the warmth and weight of his body against hers is pleasant in a way she wasn't expecting. His jeans and her skirt lay on the carpet beside her bed. Her fathers are in the basement, but her door is closed and the room has finally been sound-proofed after complaints from their neighbors about her singing actually turned into a lawsuit. She knows she doesn't have to worry about them, but she still bites down on her lip to prevent any sound from escaping as he grinds his hips against hers and she feels the pressure of him through the flimsy fabric between them.

"Rach, are you – are you sure?" he asks breathily, as his hands come to settle on her hips and he stops nibbling and sucking at the area around her jugular. His fingers gently probe the hem of her panties, letting her know exactly what he's asking. She lifts her head up to press her lips to his, pulling back less than an inch to murmur her consent against his lips. His eyes search hers for a long moment before he's closing the distance between them again and slowly sliding the white cotton down her legs.

She's tired of waiting for someone who tosses her aside when he gets bored, and as much as she logically knows how awful a reason that is for losing her virginity to someone she hasn't had more than a dozen conversations with, she's also tired of being logical. She just wants to let go.

Besides, this doesn't mean anything.

They both harbor feelings for other people; this is only an act of commiseration shared between two people joining together in a shared misery.

But for a moment she lets her mind get away from her, and she think about how gently his hands are working from her hips up past her torso. She thinks about the gleam in his eyes as he looks at her and presses their lips together, shining in a way that her mind associates with longing looks between lost loves in old movies. She thinks about his voice, breathless but insistent as he whispers in her ear that she's beautiful.

She knows how dangerous it is to let her heart believe that this means anything …

But she can't help thinking that maybe it does.

* * *

_Please review_


	80. No Celibacy Here

_A/N: Been a while ... (again) ..._

_Sorry._

_But it's longish (for a drabble)! And it's Mike/Tina! And it's about them not joining Celibacy club! So I hope that kind of makes up for it being forever again._

_[Also, Season 3, you guys, isn't it awesome!]_

_This was written as a fill for the Mike/Tina prompt meme over on LJ; just go the mike_tina community page and check it out!_

_I hope you enjoy!_

_[Author's note is choppy and less-than-coherent. I'm tired. I apologize.]_

_..._

Mike's never noticed before, but sometimes when she's talking about something she thinks is important, Rachel's forehead scrunches up and a funny little crease forms between her eyebrows that twitches and fluctuates with her speech.

It's caught his attention now, as they stand in the English hallway between classes and she's passionately inviting him and Tina to join them and the rest of the glee kids at the next Celibacy Club meeting – which, really, is laughable considering who all is now in attendance, not least of all Santana, Brittany, and Puck.

He's totally zoned out, no longer able to catch any actual words as she babbles away at hyper-speed, trying to form coherent sentences in his mind to politely decline the offer with a good excuse that doesn't involve informing her of the things he and Tina were getting up to in the Janitor's closet when they held the last meeting.

He's never been happier to hear the second bell signaling the beginning of class, because it brings with it the stampede of students realizing that they're officially late and not even in the right wing of the building.

It's all too easy to make his escape as Rachel rushes away, horrified at ruining her record of punctuality.

…

Tina's much better at evasion than her boyfriend is, managing to completely avoid coming into contact with either the Jewish diva or Quinn. It involves a lot of turning down alternate hallways whenever she catches a glimpse on of them, or slipping into classroom under a ruse of speaking to one of her teachers about an assignment or upcoming test, but it works.

Glee, however, is a different story. She can't just fail to show up, and even though she manages to slip in seconds ahead of Mr. Schue, she gets cornered as soon as it ends, Mike at her side but doing his best to fade into the band kids packing up behind them.

"Tina!" greets Quinn jovially with a smile on her face (sometimes it creeps her out, that she can never tell whether or not Quinn's being genuine with any of her emotions or moods; that she constantly has to question her sincerity). "I've been trying to catch up with you for ages!" she declares with a light-hearted laugh.

Rachel takes over, "Yes, we've wanted to speak to the two of you. We noticed your absence at the last Celibacy Club meeting, and just wanted to be clear that the invitation, of course, extends to the two of you as well, and that we'll be meeting on Thurs-"

"Actually, we won't be joining," Tina cuts her off as pleasantly and transparently as she is capable of, turning to look at Mike and attempting to leave it at that.

All the others are still in the room, however, and are all now paying close attention to the conversation taking place in the corner. Rachel's brows furrow – and honestly, Tina wonders how she can possibly be that innocent or oblivious – as she queries, "Why not?"

Tina just stares at them for a moment, wondering if they're serious; if they're actually going to make her come out and say it. She takes a deep breath – hoping for a brief moment that Mike is going to step in, but knowing that he's going to let her field this one; and not blaming him for it, because last week she forced him to explain to the Janitor why they'd been exiting that closet in the Tech hall so now it's her turn – and steels herself.

"Because we're not celibate," she replies simply, blandly – unapologetically – and watching the way Quinn's eyes widen. It's really the shocked look on Rachel's face that makes her go on.

"Aren't you the one who spoke up at Celibacy Club last year and said that celibacy doesn't work in high schools? Aren't you the one who told them that girls want sex just as much as guys do? Well, it's true. I'm not saying that people can't make an independent choice to not have sex until they graduate, or they're an adult, or their married, or whatever; because they can. And they can stick to it. If they want to, if they're dedicated … good for them; it's a decision they have every right to make.

"But by that same token, people have every right to choose the opposite. _I_'ve chosen that within our committed relationship, sex is just a natural extension of my feelings for Mike; and so has he. We talk things through, we use protection, we're safe … and I don't think it's wrong for us to have a healthy sexual relationship. So we will. And believe me, we _do_, often."

…

His mouth falls open of its own accord and stays there, the same way he knows she can't control the blush of her cheeks, after that last sentence.

He kinds of wants to run and hide, or laugh at the expressions on Quinn and Rachel's faces, or smirk Puck's, or do about fifty other things, all in the space of a second, but he finds that he can't do any of them. So he just closes his mouth, tilts his head up once in acknowledgment of the awed looks the guys are giving him, desperately attempting to portray a faked nonchalance, one side of his mouth tilting up.

Tee just giggles, rolling her eyes and taking his hand as she drags him out of the choir room, leaving a stunned silence behind them. By the time they stumble out to the parking lot they've both kind of lost it, laughing off the nervous embarrassment of what just transpired.

She lets out one more breathy laugh before turning them around and pushing him up against the passenger door of his mom's Caravan, fusing their lips together while he eagerly returns the pressure. One of her hands wanders down to his side, tracing reflexively over the hickey just to the right of his defined six-pack, making a shiver run up his spine. The memory is fresh in his mind as her lips drop to his neck, biting gently as both her hands roam down farther teasingly.

The promise of more to come later is enough to make him shudder in anticipation, head falling back against the metal frame of the mini-van.

They will _definitely_ not be attending any Celibacy Club meetings.

_..._

_Please review!_


	81. Lost Potential

_Disclaimer: Glee is not mine. (Unfortunately.)_

_A/N: Wow, um ... if there's anyone still reading this who cares, I'm sorry. It's been forever._

_But anyways, here it is. Set loosely after 3x11 _Michael_. In 2nd person, in which the 'you' in Sam._

_Hope it doesn't suck!_

* * *

You're a sucker.

After everything, you must be.

You gave your heart to Quinn, put a promise ring on her finger, and she turned around and stomped on it. She ran back to her ex, cheated on you, and lied to your face about it. And you let her. You were so desperate, had fallen so hard for her … you trusted her blindly, and what did that get you? Heartbroken.

Then you started going out with Santana. Sure, you never really talked about it – or about _anything_ – but you just assumed that it was an exclusive arrangement. You found out you were wrong a few weeks later, though, when Santana flounced into Glee with that Karofsky asshole on her arm saying that he was her boyfriend.

And now …

Now, you're standing in the hallway, watching the girl you love walk away from you with another guy – with her _boyfriend_ – and all you can do is stand there like an idiot, staring after her.

The way you feel about her is more than you've ever felt before, and you know that she feels it too. It's in her eyes when she looks at you, and when she looks away. It's fire, and ice; it's butterflies in your stomach when she's around, and electricity in your veins when you sing together. It's heady, and overwhelming, but comfortable. It's the warmth of a thick blanket in winter, and never wanting to have to get out from underneath it.

It's _potential_, raw and moldable,

And it's all just out of your reach.

* * *

_A/N: If you _are_ still reading, leave me a little review to let me know what you thought, and if there's anything _you_'d like me to write about._

_Thanks so much!_


	82. Empty Rooms

_A/N: Started this one a while ago, when I was in a dour mood, but couldn't figure out how I wanted it to end until tonight._

_Hope you like!_

_..._

He inserts the key into the lock slowly, wiggling it in a well-practiced motion to catch the mechanism properly. Turning the knob carefully, he pushes the door open with just enough force. He hangs his scarf on an elaborately-carved coat rack, aligns his shoes neatly at the edge of the welcome mat, and hangs his jacket neatly away in the large closet. The jangle of his keys against the porcelain of the bowl on the small table beside the door echoes loudly in the foyer.

"Hello?" Blaine calls out at a controlled medium volume, wary of his mother's intolerance for raised voices in the house.

There's no response, and although he wasn't expecting one he still feels a familiar pang in his chest at coming home to an empty house again, despite the fact that he ought to be used to that fact by now. He makes his way to the kitchen, the hair on the back of his neck rising up uncomfortably as he takes in the ornate detailing and upscale interior decorating that surrounds him. His father is constantly reminding him to be grateful for everything he has in his life. At times like these, however, when he feels like an unwelcome stranger in his own house – not _home_, never home – he longs for more. He longs for family pictures on the walls in place of the foreign art; an old, worn-in couch instead of the immaculate, untouched furniture; a warm kitchen where cooking is really done. Sometimes he longs for a house that feels lived in; that feels like a home.

Leaving an orderly hallway behind him and entering a pristine kitchen, he catches sight of a note sitting on the spotless marble top of the island.

He recognizes his mother's handwriting immediately – loopy but refined, and evenly spaced. Although it's not addressed to anyone, he knows it was written for his benefit.

_I've gone to meet Sandra to discuss next week's fundraiser, as the entertainment has cancelled on us. Your father's very busy finalizing the Tokyo deal and will be spending the night at the office again. _

_There's a casserole in the refrigerator; pre-heat the oven to 350__ and cook for 30-40 minutes._

_Don't wait up._

There's no expression of regret for leaving him alone, no '_Love, Mom_' penned out at the end. He doesn't expect them, he knows better, but it still makes a lump form in his throat because he shouldn't be used to this.

He lets the slip of paper fall back onto the marble, sighing.

He stares at the fridge for a long moment, considering the casserole inside. When instead he pulls out his phone and presses _2_, then _talk_, he tries to convince himself that there's no point cooking a whole casserole for one person. It's a valid enough reason, even though it's not responsible for his decision.

"_Hello?_"

He barely gets five words out before the voice on the other end is telling him that Carole made Fettuccini Alfredo but overestimated how much they'd need for the four of them, and would he like to come over to help them eat it?

As much as he hates to think he's become so predictable, he's beyond grateful for Kurt's ability to read him – even over the phone.

Two minutes later the door's falling shut behind him, and he's never been so glad to leave the hollow-feeling house in his wake.

_..._

_Please review!_


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